


The Powdery Orange Ratio

by serafinapekala



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Darcy Lewis & Natasha Romanov Friendship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Jane Foster & Darcy Lewis Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Protective Natasha Romanov, Science Bros, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve has the shoulder-to-waist ratio of a dorito, Unresolved Sexual Tension, your tears are fuel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serafinapekala/pseuds/serafinapekala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They first notice each other when sleepless Darcy discovers Steve has the shoulder-to-waist ratio of a Dorito. But both of them are so accustomed to being alone -- can their friends help prod them in the right direction (which is to say, toward each other)?</p><p>Rated T out of excessive caution, but that may change later. Adding tags as they come up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Greatest Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> It is the greatest discovery. And by greatest discovery, I mean... funniest.  
> I got this idea at work and had to write it -- it's also my first fanfic ever. Critiques are welcome, but please be gentle! Hope you enjoy it~ I'll be adding more tags as more characters join in.

It was going to be a long day. 

With Pepper gone for some kind of corporate powerhouse conference, Darcy had to play assistant to both Jane and Tony. Jane, she could handle, easy. She mostly created and filled spreadsheets that would allow them to search for correlations in all kinds of data, and the majority of it was about the Einstein-Rosen Bridge Thor used to travel. Not difficult. Even if her field was political science, not astrophysics. Even if some days it was just making sandwiches and leaving them conveniently in view for an extremely focused research scientist.

Tony, though. Tony was going to make her earn those six stupid college credits. He texted her at 4 am on the first day of Pepper's conference to ask if the Chinese place a couple miles away was still open and, if so, to order him steamed rice, a dim-sum sampler, and broccoli beef. Oh, and do they do delivery?

As if Jarvis couldn't have handled that? She turned it over to the AI, turned her phone to silent, and tried to go back to sleep. At least it was only for a couple of days, she told herself, rustling around to get comfy again. Which meant Pepper, who'd left the previous evening, would be back in... about 55 hours. And if she fell asleep right now, she'd get a total of five hours' sleep before she had to get up.

Go to sleep.

Go to sleep.

If she fell asleep right now, she'd get four and a half hours' sleep before she had to get up.

Go to sleep.

Time for sleep.

If she fell asleep right this second she'd get four hours' sleep before the alarm went off.

Sleep. Sleeeeeep. The sheets were warm and soft. The pillow was perfect. Why was this so difficult?!

Dim-sum sounded pretty good, actually.

Gotosleepgotosleepgotosleep.

_Hungry._

Swearing viciously and violently, she got out of bed, shoved on her robe, and stomped toward the closest kitchen for a snack. The biggest benefit to living in Stark Tower (besides it being free, of course) was definitely the well-stocked kitchens. Well, and the view, she mused, passing the stairwell that would lead to what she privately thought of as the superheros' floors. Okay, mostly the view. Then again, it was nice to see the city from a higher angle, too. But still, the views inside the tower were better than the views you could see from its windows. She'd thought “view” so many times it had started to sound weird.

Closing the kitchen door behind her and hoping she wouldn't wake anyone up at this ungodly hour -- though, it did occur to her to text Tony back, just in case he'd fallen asleep -- she played with the word. “View. Viiewwww, vvviewwwwww, viewwwww,” she muttered, with rising and falling notes like race cars flying by. The freezer blew cold air in her face as she looked for frozen dim-sum, or potstickers, or anything snacky and easy. No dice. The popcorn smell was only making her hungrier.

“Jarvis, is there a grocery list started?” she asked the air.

“There is,” the AI confirmed. “Do you have something to add?” Okay, that was damn convenient. Definitely another perk. Still didn't beat the view, especially Captain America. He may play goody-two-shoes, the perfect hero and soldier, but she didn't buy his Jean-Luc Picard act. She was pretty sure there was something else under that earnest patriotism. “Yeah. Let's get some potstickers up in this freezer bitch. Veggie ones.”

“Understood. And for you, Captain Rogers? Anything to add?” Darcy frowned at the wry voice. It was like the AI had read her mind, since there was nobody else –

“Um, no, thank you,” came the embarrassed voice of the American hero from one of the sofas in the adjoining lounge.

Darcy jumped and pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart racing from the scare, and took a couple of calming breaths before squinting into the darker room. “What the hell, Rogers, you scared the crap out of me,” she couldn't help snapping, cringing internally at her voice. “What are you even doing here at this time of night? Or morning. I guess it's morning.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to startle you. I fell asleep watching a movie.”

“Uh, it's ok... Sorry I woke you.” _Be more of a jerk, Darce. Jesus._

“No, it's alright. But I've got a crick in my neck like you wouldn't believe.”

 _I can help you with that,_ she almost said, and she snapped her lips together to keep it in. Captain Rogers asked Jarvis to bring the lights up, misattributing her awkwardness to the fact that he was hidden in shadow and she was exposed in the kitchen. He was wearing that one t-shirt that showed off how muscle-y he was. Of course. Well, to be honest, most of his t-shirts had that effect. She turned to the snack cupboard to keep from staring, leaning a hip against the hard counter.

If at any point she wanted to be more exposed, he'd probably be okay with that. _Okay, definitely. Definitely_ okay with that. His cheeks felt warm and he ducked his head to hide what he suspected was a blush, rubbing his tense neck to hide it. He winced as sore muscles only got more sore and gave up.

“Ouch. So, um, what were you watching?” she stammered, if for no better reason than to break the awkward silence. Ugh, god, she was acting like a teenager nervous about talking to boys. Get it together, for crying out loud, she admonished herself.

“Star Trek III: The Search for Spock,” he read off the DVD case. Darcy Lewis didn't really strike him as a Star Trek fan.

“Ooh, you gotta watch the fourth one, The Voyage Home? It's only the best Star Trek movie there is. It has whales,” she said by way of explanation, reaching blindly into the cupboard she hadn't really been searching and pulling out the first thing she grabbed. “I mean, if you're not planning to go back to sleep. 'Cause I can totally clear out if you want to make your neck worse by sleeping in here.” She edged toward the door, not really meaning it but wanting to make it look like she did.

“No!” Captain Rogers leaned toward her and reached out with one hand. He stared at it as if it had moved on its own and dropped it back down to the sofa, more embarrassed than he could remember being recently. “Uh, no, that's alright. I'd like to watch it with you.” He turned back to the coffee table, pawing through DVDs with his left hand and rubbing the back of his neck again with the rogue right. As Darcy headed to the lounge, she thought the angle and the light made it look like his ears were turning pink.

“Well, if I went back to sleep right this second without going back to my room or eating any –” she glanced down at what she'd grabbed “ – Doritos, I'd only get about three and a half hours of sleep anyway. Stupid Tony waking me up with stupid questions he could ask Jarvis or fucking Google or even, I don't know, call the Chinese place to see if they're open his own damn self? Place his own goddamn order? How hard could that be? I mean, really. … I'm rambling, aren't I. Sorry. I'm just cranky. Tony texted me at four to ask for broccoli beef, can you believe it?” Hearing how ridiculous it sounded she couldn't help but laugh as she leaned down for the DVD.

He was up like a shot, so fast they would've collided if she hadn't been on the other side of the coffee table, looking anywhere but at her. “Want some popcorn? I could go for some popcorn. Can't have a movie without popcorn,” he said over his shoulder, beating what looked like a hasty retreat to the kitchen. _What the hell?_ Darcy swapped out the DVDs and sat cross-legged in the warm spot Rogers had left behind, retucking her robe to cover her chilly chest and neck. Oh. Her chest. She bit her lip to hold in the horrified snickering. She just flashed Captain America, National Icon, and he had run away. Though, judging by the front of his sweats, he hadn't exactly hated it. She bit her lip in a very different way. _Damn._

“Sure, I could go for some popcorn, I guess,” she called back, opening her Doritos bag. Getting that orange powder on her fingers wasn't her favorite, but it was too late to go back or it would look like she was chasing him, or like she'd been too distracted to get something she really liked. Which she had. “Want some Doritos?”

“Doritos? I don't think I've tried 'em yet. What are they?”

“They're spicy flavored chips, particular favorites of a certain subset of people who take videogames too seriously and drink unhealthy amounts of Mountain Dew late into the night. The powder gets all over your hands. Not as bad as Cheetohs, though. Like this,” she said, holding one up to show him, forcing him to look back at her.

“I guess I'll have to try them,” Rogers replied, aiming for casual, but Darcy was too distracted to process the words. She was too busy staring at the comparison she'd accidentally made:

Captain Rogers had the shoulder-to-waist ratio of a Dorito.

Maybe today wasn't going to be so bad after all.


	2. Butter and Egg Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More awkard flirting, with 30s and 40s slang thrown in.

There were worse ways to spend a sleepless morning than watching what was arguably the best Star Trek film of them all with Captain Rogers, Incredibly Cut American Icon Extraordinaire. Darcy reflected on the circumstances that brought her there, to that moment, and decided that if she did still want to smack Tony Stark for waking her up at four o'clock in the morning, it might not be quite as hard as it would've been otherwise.

She knew she had a bad habit of talking during movies. She was trying not to. Really, really trying not to. But she was so nervous, so aware of Rogers and his muscles and his body heat, she couldn't help it. And it made him laugh, which helped. She argued against Kirk's line about receiving the glasses from McCoy again, which Rogers had agreed with; she started to explain why the cop wouldn't just tell them where the “nuclear wessels” were, but of course he understood that one; and he'd slapped a hand to his chest and gasped at her “hit it and quit it” quip as the whale biologist kissed Kirk's cheek and sauntered off. All in all, she was feeling pretty pleased with herself. And if she caught Captain Rogers glancing at her legs, only partially covered by her bathrobe, crossed at the ankles and propped up on the coffee table amidst the empty popcorn bowl, Doritos bag, smudged water glasses, and scattered DVDs, well that was just fine too.

The Doritos bag.

The shoulder-to-waist ratio.

She had to turn her head away and press a fist to her mouth to keep from laughing. Her eyes watered. Darcy was so telling Jane about the ratio. The Powdery Orange Ratio, more beautiful than the Golden Ratio, blessed be the –

“Are you okay?” Rogers asked. The concerned hand on her shoulder made Darcy jump and he pulled it away quickly. She carefully schooled her features before turning back to Captain Dori-- er, Captain Rogers. Shit, gonna have to be careful with that.

“Yeah, just stretching my neck,” she lied casually. “This sofa really does give you a crick in the neck. This thing is bullshit. Really gotta sit on a different sofa next time.” Next time. Oh, that was out loud. She looked away, steeling herself for the careful deflection, the gentle rejection, the snort of disbelief – whatever. But he surprised her.

“Yeah, absolutely... next time.”

“Hell, try a different one for every movie, work our way around the room. Start with that one,” she said, feeling bolder, and pointed to a dark green loveseat with wide armrests. “I mean, look at that thing, that's gotta be the comfiest sofa on the planet. I bet it has hella lumbar support.” Plus, it was shorter than the one they were on, and it looked like it'd be great for cuddling.

“Uh, yeah, 'hella.'” There was a pause. “What's 'hella' mean again?”

They spent the rest of the credits going over slang from their respective eras. Darcy realized she got most of hers from the Internet, and that modern slang had the sheen of boredom because it was familiar.

“A lot of words have changed meaning. 'Dope' used to mean information; I asked Tony if he had the dope on something and, well, I'm sure you can imagine his response.” Darcy laughed; she could totally picture Stark's face.

“Our slang is boring, say something in old slang,” she said, turning sideways on the sofa to face Captain Dorito – damnit, Rogers – and letting her knee brush against his thigh as she did. He shifted, turning to face her in return, and kept his eyes very carefully above chin-level. Which included her lips, still curved on one side. Her smile looked secretive. Steve found himself wondering what kind of secrets she kept and how he could tease them from those lips. He coughed guiltily, thought for a moment, and took a breath.

“Um, ok, I may be a doll-dizzy dead hoofer, but no need to flip your wig, I ain't no chizz; just a dilly wonderin' if you're rationed, sugar, 'cause you're killer-diller, butter and egg fly, ducky shincracker --” he had to break off, embarrassed and a little ashamed at how forward he was being with this woman he'd seen around but barely spoken to. Fortunately for him, Darcy didn't seem to notice his acute embarrassment. She was too busy laughing. That was definitely something he wanted to make happen again. He liked how her nose crinkled.

“What did all that mean?” she asked, innocently enough, but with a glint of mischief in her eye. She was still laughing. And really, he should've known she'd ask.

“Oh, just.. dead hoofer means someone who can't dance, for example.”

“And 'flip your wig'?”

“Freak out, lose your cool..”

“'Doll dizzy'?”

“Um, girl-crazy..” Oh no, now it sounded like he chased after all the girls.

“Okay, what about that butter-egg one and the one with rations?” He was really regretting waxing so poetic, if one could call it that. How was he going to word it, exactly, that he had called her beautiful and asked if she was seeing anyone? What if she didn't like how forward that was? He could feel the flush rising in his cheeks.

“Miss Lewis, your alarm is going off. Shall I turn it off for you?” Steve had never been so relieved to hear the AI's voice in the whole time he'd been living at the Stark Tower. It actually kind of bothered him a little. Like someone was watching him. He stole a furtive glance at her lips again as she looked up to address the ceiling out of habit, though, he realized, Jarvis had probably noticed that.

“Yeah, thanks, Jarvis. Guess it's time to get started on the day, Captain Rogers,” she said, tipping her head to one side and looking at Captain Rogers a little wistfully.

“I guess,” he echoed softly. “And call me Steve.”

“Okay. Steve.”

Neither of them moved.

“Maybe.. I should stay. For breakfast?” Oh god, what was wrong with her? Why couldn't she just make normal conversation with coherent sentences? She tried to will the blush away – it was so not in keeping with the careful image she had built of herself – but her face flamed away regardless.

“I think I saw bacon and eggs in the fridge. I could fry you up a mean bacon and.. eggs.” He huffed at his own awkwardness, but Darcy's answering smile made him feel about ten times better.

“Bacon and eggs is my favorite. Throw in some coffee and you've got yourself a deal.”

“What, throw the coffee into.. the pan?” he deadpanned.

“No, I mean add. To throw something in means to add it to – you knew that! I trusted National Icon Captain America and he tricked me!” She punched his shoulder in mock-righteous outrage, and he laughed again, though maybe less brightly than before.

"Mercy, dollface, mercy!” He pretended to nurse a wounded shoulder, hiding behind hands raised in surrender. There was a muffled half-squeak, half-choking sound as the neck-destroying cushions on the back of the sofa shifted. Darcy pressed her forehead against them, frowning, hiding to give herself a second to figure out exactly why she had liked that so much. Half her face was hidden by the cushions, and the other half was mostly obscured by her hair. What he could see – a smidgen of her nose, a bit of cheek, the scalp revealed by the part in her hair, the side of her neck – was turning red. _Maybe she likes my slang more than she's willing to let on_ , he mused, and filed that information away under Things To Examine Later. Instead of prying like he wanted to, he leaned forward and started clearing the coffee table.

“C'mon, help me with this and then we'll make breakfast,” he said. She didn't respond until he nudged her ankle with his foot – he didn't want to press his luck.

“So, what did you think of Doritos? Any good?” Darcy had to try very hard to keep a straight face. It took every ounce of her self control. She scooped the DVDs into a rough stack.

“Yeah, I think I like 'em.” His eye caught on her smirk, that teasing half-smile, and he took the dishes to the kitchen sink.


	3. Eggs and Bakey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast with a side of flirting.

Darcy set the cold bacon and eggs on the counter while Steve hunted down a pan. Neither of them were very familiar with the kitchen; Darcy had only just moved in, and Steve usually used the kitchen on his own floor.

Come to think of it – “So how come you're down here with us plebs instead of upstairs on your own floor?” When Steve glanced at her with a concerned line between his eyebrows, she hastily added, “I mean, not that it's a problem. Or anything. Just curious.” _Sounded real cool there, self. Nice._

Even her internal voice could be scathingly sarcastic.

At least she'd found the pan. She held it up triumphantly so Steve could stop searching and turned on the stove.

“Remember how Thor was in town recently?” Darcy nodded. After all, Thor's connection to both Jane and the Avengers was the impetus for Jane And Darcy Science Wonder Twins' move. “Well, he tried to cook something for Miss Foster, which was real sweet of him, but.. it didn't go so well. The whole place smells just awful.” Steve was encouraged by Darcy's chuckle, hidden behind a curtain of hair as she bent to check the fridge. He wanted to see that secretive smile, to tuck her hair behind her ear, to run his fingertips – he tamped those thoughts right down. He barely even knew her. “It's putrid up there. Rancid. Seriously, you should check it out, if you don't care about your nose. Or if you hate yourself. It stinks.”

He cracked four eggs into the pan and added a few thick slices of bacon. It sizzled sharply and the scent of cooking breakfast overrode the stale smell of the popcorn.

“I thought he went back to Asgard a week ago?”

“Oh, he did. That's what's so incredible about that stink. It just won't go away. The housekeepers've been in there with bleach and everything. The windows are wide open all day. It's a very stubborn kind of reek. Kind of impressive in a way,” he chuckled. “Even our rooms are getting funky.”

“Well, I definitely don't blame you. Sounds like the kind of thing to be avoided,” she murmured, only half-focused on her own words as she tried to figure out the strange coffee maker. After a couple seconds of staring she figured it out and reached for some mugs, which she'd discovered in her hunt for the pan. Naturally they were on an inconveniently high shelf. Did whoever planned this kitchen not even _think_ about coffee drinkers? "You're totes welcome to use our kitchen whenever you want." When the cold granite of the counter pressed against the skin of her stomach, she realized her shirt was riding up a couple of inches. Darcy turned, just a smidge, as subtly as she could, so Steve could see it if he looked.

He did.

He swallowed so hard she could hear it from a few feet away.

Steve knew he was staring. And he knew Darcy could see him out of the corner of her eye. Was she flirting with him? Since the serum that wasn't exactly new, but it felt different than the harmless and generalized flirting from girls who'd danced in his shows or the more aggressive women who idolized him as a hero without any inkling of the man underneath. Sometimes he felt like he was – had to be – so many things to so many people that he was losing his own identity. Maybe that was the secret hidden behind her smile, begging him to suss it out.

Moving slowly, both because he felt oddly like he was in a dream and because he didn't want to spook her, he closed the space between them in a couple of steps. Darcy was still facing the cabinet, standing stock still. He came up so close behind her he could smell her shampoo – a little minty. Tea tree maybe? Darcy could feel his body heat through her thin bathrobe even though they weren't technically touching. Her stomach flipped. His breath ruffled the right side of her hair and she felt the warmth of it on the back of her ear. Her eyes closed for a long moment.

Slowly, so slowly, agonizingly slowly, he reached past her hand and picked up the mug she'd been after. It read “Smaller navy. Fewer horses. Fewer bayonets.” He held it briefly, not understanding it, and set it on the counter. She realized her hand was still in the air and quickly put it on the counter next to his, which was still wrapped around the mug. His other hand was touching the counter on her other side, and she felt both trapped and completely safe, as if he was holding her close.The last quiet voice of reason she still had whispered that Steve practically was holding her close, minus the touching part.

Should she turn around? Or just stand there?Just as importantly, could he hear her heart pounding? He could probably hear her heart pounding. The entire freaking city could probably hear her heart pounding.

“Thanks,” she croaked. _Fucking_ smooth _, Darcy Lewis. Fucking smooth. Jesus._

“Don't mention it, doll,” he murmured, remembering her reaction to it earlier and sounding much smoother than she had. Much smoother than he felt. She felt a prickling along her skin and warmth in the pit of her stomach. Probably his proximity had something to do with it.

He felt so out of line, so forward in an ungentlemanly way, but it barely bothered him. She was so close. He moved to tuck her hair behind her ear, but before he could touch her, a voice came from behind them.

“Your eggs are going to burn --” Steve and Darcy both whipped around, startled by Natasha's silent entry. Of course, she blithely continued, a particular glint in her eye – “if you don't take them off the heat. They might already be burning. You might have to just toss them at this point.” Black Widow pretended to only notice their compromising situation when they not-so-subtly jumped away from each other. She cocked an eyebrow. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything?”

“No, no,” they both rushed to assure her, and made awkward, dismayed eye contact. “Just, um, making breakfast,” Steve finished lamely.

“You and I make breakfast very differently,” the Russian deadpanned. Steve she knew she could tease. Darcy.. not so much. Darcy was a newcomer, and blushing harder than Natasha could remember seeing anyone blush before. Even the hands she was twisting together in front of her stomach were tinged pink. She'd only moved in, what, a week ago now? Two? Inconsequential. But what was interesting, she decided, was how red the both of them were. They looked guilty too, like a couple of handsy teenagers who'd been escorted out of a movie theater by the manager and were waiting for their moms to pick them up. Interesting.

Steve turned back to the stove to try to salvage their breakfast. The bacon was beyond hope and he dropped it into the trash with a fork, but the eggs were still okay, as long as you liked the yolks more firm than runny. He'd had the burner up too hot. Maybe that was why he felt so warm. The room seemed warm and close, too. Natasha read tension along his back and shoulders, and he was standing with his hips pressed up against the cabinet. She smirked to herself and made a mental note to ask about Sharon – evidently that wasn't working out. Maybe it was the whole secret-agent-sent-to-spy-on-you thing that turned him off.

Natasha's gaze flicked over this Darcy Lewis person who had her super-soldier friend all hot and bothered. There was acute embarrassment in her body language, but also amusement held in check. She was looking not at Natasha or Steve, but at the trash can. Mourning the bacon? When the package was still mostly full?

No, not looking at the blackened bacon. Looking at the empty Doritos bag. What was so special about the Doritos bag? Natasha could feel her gaze sharpen. She made another mental note to get close enough to be told. She could probably just corner the younger woman and intimidate it out of her, but that seemed bullish and heavy-handed. Besides, if Steve saw something in Darcy, maybe she'd see it too. And it would be kind of nice to have a civilian friend. It'd make her feel.. more normal.

Maybe she'd stay for breakfast after all – she'd only been planning on teasing Steve for missing his dawn run, but this could be interesting.

The kitchen was quiet until the fresh bacon was cooked and plated and all three of them were seated. At first it was an awkward quiet, but as Natasha, Steve and Darcy moved around each other, doctoring their coffees and looking for silverware, the hush between the clinking of plates and gentle padding sounds of bare feet grew more companionable.

Every now and then, Natasha noticed, Darcy would glance at the chip bag and press her lips together, one corner of her mouth curling upwards. The spy did _not_ like not knowing something.


	4. A White Russian

Darcy felt completely useless at work that day.

She couldn't concentrate on anything. When she opened a new spreadsheet, she stared blankly at the screen for nearly half an hour without seeing it, immersed instead in replaying the memory of that thing with the mug that morning. She'd forget why she was going to start a new spreadsheet and pick up a stack of scratch-paper notes off her desk, realize they needed to be entered, then go to open a new spreadsheet. Rinse, repeat. For all that she'd arrived early at the temporarily communal lab, spooked out of the kitchen by Natasha's questioning looks, she'd hardly gotten anything done. It would have been frustrating if she hadn't been totally preoccupied with that morning's events. The mug thing.

Naturally, every time she thought of it, she smiled, blushed, and darted a glance around the room to see if anybody noticed. Jane was starting to notice, actually, looking at Darcy through her own see-through screen. Dr. Banner mostly kept to himself, occasionally snacking on the blueberries that kept mysteriously appearing at his elbow (pfft, as if Tony wasn't obviously putting them there in the hopes of making Science Bros a thing). And Tony was too focused on either Banner, himself, or his work to notice Darcy. It was nice to have Banner here, he reflected – though the scientist didn't spend much time in Stark Tower or big cities in general, sometimes he needed access to highly specialized (and ungodly expensive) equipment.

It wasn't like Pepper really helped him out in the lab, so her being gone for a couple of days was only different after hours. But then? At night? It was very different. He couldn't seem to get over how different it was. He hadn't realized how lonely he'd been before her, even with the supermodels and the booze and the women. When Pepper had smacked some sense into him at that party, she'd been more right than either of them had realized. The arc reactor wasn't the only hole in his chest with her gone. He rubbed gingerly at the edge of the reactor, fruitlessly trying to soothe an unrelated ache. Not to mention, he had nobody to put his cold feet on, nobody to cuddle up to when they hogged the covers, and nobody to completely drop his persona around, to relax with, to be honest with. He'd given up on trying to sleep in an empty bed around two and returned to his lab, where he threw himself into his work and forgot time was a thing and certain people were asleep.

He was going to have to apologize to Darcy, Tony realized. He must have woken her up ridiculously early, and with something trivial. She was probably furious with him. Pepper would be so mad at him. He winced. Darcy and Banner were not going to fill the void Pepper had temporarily left behind. Maybe they could fill 12% of a void. Oh, he made himself sad again. He missed Pepper.

Tony felt so clingy. Maybe he'd check how many fans he had on Facebook as Iron Man. Darcy had set the page up for him and it was a real boost to his ego. Not that anybody probably thought he needed it. Pepper would understand. If she was there. 

A new message from Jane popped up on Darcy's screen. It took her a few minutes to notice it. _You ok? You look dazed or tired or horny or something._ Bless, she was so direct sometimes.

_Tony woke me up at 4 AM like an asshole because he couldn't just look up whether some Chinese restaurant was open and could deliver, but.. that turned out to be ok? I think? There was a thing this morning. A mug thing. Details late but kinda all of the above._

_JUICY details?_

_The juiciest. I think?_

_You'll forget to tell me later, tell me now._ The researcher could be so impatient sometimes. Even her message sounded petulant. It was truly a gift.

 _Trust me, I won't forget. But it's related to Doritos, and not the powdery kind.. but still the kind that leaves you licking your lips._ Darcy snorted loudly into the all-but-silent room as she tried to smother a cackle. The more she thought about it, the funnier it got, and her stomach was still feeling fluttery from that morning. The Mug Thing. It deserved to be capitalized. She could feel herself blushing again as she pressed her thighs together. This whole thing was seriously getting out of hand.

“Is there something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?” Tony said sternly, shrinking the blueprints he was working on to give both women a look.

“Uh, no, definitely not. Nothing going on here, I-I don't even know what you're talking about,” Jane lied. It was an easy lie to see through with Darcy's hand clamped over her mouth and her eyes screwed shut, her shoulders twitching with suppressed laughter. She realized she was actually a little relieved it had been Natasha who walked in on them that morning, rather than someone else. Obviously, nobody walking in on them would have been ideal, but Darcy knew Natasha could keep a secret. She probably knew like a million secrets. She wondered what kind of dissertation she could write with the secrets Natasha knew.

Once she thought about it though, maybe that wasn't quite what her Resolving International Conflicts professor quite had in mind, whatever her name was. Darcy was so bad at names, she tended to just call professors by the classes they taught. National and International Security Policy would be all over Natasha's intel. Er, dope. She snorted again.

_Tell me. I can see you blushing. Teellll meeeeeeee._

_Get back to work!_

_Speak for yourself, you've barely touched the keyboard all day._

_Sea bass. Sea bass sea bass sea bass sea bass_

_Be quiet, I'm trying to focus on this gravitational spectrometer improvement._

_Uh huh. You got it, boss._ Darcy aimed a little mock salute at her scientist friend.

“Political science isn't even a science,” Tony complained, and huffed when Darcy didn't rise to the barb. He felt left out until Banner took pity on him and threw a blueberry at his head.

The day seemed to drag on forever. Tony didn't want it to end; Darcy couldn't pay attention; Jane was so curious about what was eating Darcy that she had to scrap her plans four times; Banner just tried to stay out of everyone's way and be as unobtrusive as possible. Normally Darcy would've been much more cajoling, drawing him a bit out of his shell and trying to make him feel more comfortable. Today though? She couldn't focus on any of the data she was processing over the memory of The Mug Thing long enough to read the headers. Besides which, even with enough extra caffeine in her system to make her feel jittery, she was tired. Really tired. Her eyes felt bleary, her neck was absolutely killing her, and her whole body felt sluggish. Sluggish and jittery, that was an odd combo. She felt the beginnings of a migraine forming behind her eyes.

As far as work was concerned, the day was clearly a wash. Her intern hours were only supposed to be from nine or ten to three or four anyway. Might as well have a nap. Maybe on that comfy-looking green loveseat in the lounge. She organized her desk quickly, eager to be away. The scientists were focused on their own projects again, thankfully.

Darcy said a brief goodbye anyway. Stark had one of his nasty green smoothies in a thermos on his desk, Jane had her Pop-Tarts, Banner had a roast turkey and pesto sandwich wrapped up in the lab minifridge. They'd been fed, they'd be fine.

* * *

  
Darcy didn't know why she thought Captain Dorito would be in her floor's common lounge, but she was distinctly disappointed to see he wasn't. At least it gave her a chance to gather her thoughts.

That morning had been unexpected and.. intense, in its own way. After her intern had turned out to be a Hydra agent, which had been, what, six months ago now? she hadn't really been into the whole dating scene. To be honest, it had actually been longer than that. Grad school kept her damn busy, and before that she'd been working her ass off in undergrad, keeping her GPA up for the merit scholarships she desperately needed. Not much time for flings. Long story short, she talked a big game, but didn't ultimately know what she was doing. A novel, by me, she thought wryly.

But was a fling really what she was after? Or something more? That gave her pause. Something to examine later, after her nap. The wide armrests of the green loveseat were practically begging her to rest her head on them.

She had to keep it together long enough to finish her dissertation. Just another month. Six weeks tops. Okay, probably six weeks.  
Another month and a half of this slow-burn agony. The pit of her stomach still roiled hotly from this morning. She was going to have to let off this steam that night if she wanted the slightest chance at keeping up with anyone tomorrow. She yawned and let her eyes drift closed. That green loveseat was even comfier than it looked. Darcy was asleep in moments. She dreamed about feeling the heat radiating off of Steve against her whole front, and about the pressure of his hand on the small of her back.

* * *

  
Darcy's phone buzzing woke her up; she sat up, pawing at the end table for her phone, which she had to squint to read. It was from Jane. _Done w work. Want juicy details. Where r u?_ She was such a lazy texter. Nobody who got a text from her would think she could possibly have three PhDs in the hard sciences. Nobody who knew she had three PhDs in the hard sciences would think she could barely work a cell phone.

 _Lounge. Our floor. And you know you can just ask Jarvis, right?_ Darcy replied. 

 _I know!! C u in a sec._ Aha, Jane had forgotten. Darcy couldn't help but smile. Sometimes smart people could be so forgetful. Or so focused on what interested them that everything else fell by the wayside. Like how to change a ringtone. Which reminded her, it was about time to change Jane's ringtone to something else obnoxious and not-Jane-like. Hmmm. So many options.

Darcy was glad she hadn't backed out of the internship. When she found out it had been posted under the “paid” section of the internships bulletin board instead of “unpaid” where it evidently belonged, she almost left. Something in Jane's face had made her stay. Maybe she had that familiar look Darcy could sometimes feel on her own face – that she needed a friend. And it wasn't uninteresting work or completely over her head, even if it wasn't at all in her field. Sometimes she even felt helpful, like in New Mexico when she pointed out a primitive culture like Vikings would have worshiped Asgardians. It was just Clarke's third law: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Or godhood, in that case.

She'd always wanted to take an extremely visually well-done movie into the past and show it to a group of people who didn't even have the technology to screen a movie. Like Avatar. Not The Last Airbender, the one that was basically Pocahontas In Space. The Last Airbender was whitewashed and stripped down beyond recognition from what she'd read on Tumblr – she hadn't seen it. What if she took a copy of Avatar back in time, showed it to a group of scientists, and told them it was a historic reenactment? That that was their future? Maybe they'd be so inspired they'd discover the other worlds before New York, and be more prepared for the Chitauri invasion.

“Earth to Darcy?” Darcy jumped back with a yelp and looked up at Jane. “Wow, you were way gone. What were you thinking about?”

“Oh, y'know, being worshiped as a god by a team of scientists.”

“That's … so not important right now? What was up with you today, is what I want to know.”

“Not here,” Darcy hissed, and took a surprised scientist by the wrist. She didn't want to risk another surprise visit from Black Widow. She grabbed a Doritos bag from the snack cabinet on her way out.

* * *

  
Jane was still fanning herself from Darcy's description of The Mug Thing – albeit the fanning was a bit of an exaggeration to encourage Darcy – when her friend launched into her second narrative.

“Ok, the second thing is this.” She held up a chip.

“A.. snack. Snacks are the second thing.”

“No, Jane, look,” she huffed, exasperated, and pulled up a picture of Captain America on her phone. She zoomed and framed it for a few seconds, showed Jane, and put the Dorito over the picture, lining it up with his shoulders and waist. Slowly, for dramatic effect.

“Oh. My. God,” Jane breathed, and dissolved into laughter. “He has a Dorito body. Not a body by Dorito. His torso, you've got to be kidding me.”

Darcy sighed with relief. She wasn't going crazy after all!

“So while we were eating I felt too awkward to look at either of them, but I got stuck looking at the stupid chip bag in the trash can instead. I thought Black Widow was gonna catch on for sure. Rat me out, or something, I don't know.” All her nervousness from that morning came whooshing out as she laughed. Darcy hadn't realized how tense she'd been all day.  
“Okay, that's hilarious, but what about Steve? As a guy, not as an icon? Are you gonna go out with him?” Jane was steering the conversation toward something more serious. A sure sign of danger.

“Oh, I don't know. It's not like he's asked me. You don't think that mug thing was just me?”

“Definitely not just you. What will you say if he asks you out?”

“Yes, I guess. He's probably not a Hydra spy, right?” Despite her forced levity, that bothered her more than she let on. Evan or Andrew or Ian – okay, she did know his name, but pretending she couldn't remember made her feel better – had only been using her after London to try to get close to the Avengers. That'd show her to let things get serious. Ugh. Just because she was on break from classes to work on her dissertation did not mean she could slack off.

Jane made a sympathetic face and had just opened her mouth to say something kind when a knock came from the door. The women made “I didn't invite anyone, did you?” face at each other. Darcy shrugged and went to answer it.

It was Black Widow.

Of course.

“Please, call me Natasha,” she said, breezing past Darcy as if she visited all the time. And, really, she had been in there earlier that day, checking Darcy's room for evidence of suspicious, Hydra-related activity. Couldn't be too careful, especially where Steve was concerned. He made a good target, and he was more trusting than she would've liked. But he was a good friend. And a good teammate.

“O-okay, Natasha, what's, um, happenin'?”

“I just thought we could have some girl time. Discuss this morning.” From the exact center of the room, she turned to stare at Darcy. “Or not, if you'd prefer.”

“Not, I'd prefer not. Very much not. Jane? Not?”

“Not! Definitely not. It's been, discussed? Very discussed. We've discussed --”

“Is that beer?” Darcy would have said anything to cover her friend's rambling. There was no way she was _actually_ going to get drunk with Black Widow.

* * *

 

Ok, she was never drinking without Natasha ever again. They had a snark battle over _Sharknado 2: The Second One_ and Jane was giggling too hard to decide a victor. Darcy was a little concerned she might have actually peed a little bit. The master spy's sarcastic side was incredibly reassuring. And anybody who could deadpan "oh thank god, we desperately needed a _second_ film about a tornado made of sharks" was probably a good person to hang out with. Even if the tornado wasn't technically _made_ of sharks. Watching a movie had been Natasha's idea, since clearly the other two were too intimidated by her to hold a conversation. While she appreciated the mental and physical flexibility her training afforded her, she was hard-pressed to find someone she could just, as Clint would put it, "bro out with." It felt weird at first sitting next to Darcy on the bed, crowded around Darcy's laptop, but she felt herself relaxing more than she'd thought possible. The booze might've helped some. Probably not much. She was Russian; might as well play into the stereotype.

"So you let us put in the second Sharknado without having seen the first one?" Darcy would've started with the first if she'd known. Not that it made much difference, really, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

"I haven't seen a lot of movies. I didn't have much time for it growing up --" what an understatement " -- and I hardly know where to start now. Steve has a list of culture to catch up on, but it never really mattered enough to me to seem worth it. I've heard a lot about Star Trek, something about whales?" It was so absurd coming from her generally serious face that Darcy and Jane cracked up all over again. After a moment, Natasha laughed too.

"Maybe we should start a movie club, meet every Thursday or something and watch a movie or a couple episodes of a TV show. Or do series marathons on weekends. No, no History channel biographies of presidents," Jane warned, a very serious finger pointed at Darcy. "Nobody else cares as much as you do."

"I think we paint our nails and talk about boys now," she said, with just a glimmer of real hope. Maybe she could both experience this much-vaunted normalcy and suss out Darcy's feelings for Steve.

"Have you seen Thor? Did you know Darcy actually tased him? Like, she _tased_ him. She _tased Thor_!" Jane, of course, only got more coherent the more she had been drinking.

"Yes I did," Darcy said, still pretty proud of that. What? He was freaking her out! Fresh internship, which was apparently _not_ paid, and her boss-lady decided they were going to go screaming into the middle of a storm in a janky-ass van with janky-ass patchy equipment with zero visibility, and an extremely cut dude shows up in the middle of what had been an empty desert, stumbling around like he was drunk and yelling about a hammer? Uh, please, like anybody _wouldn't_ tase that guy.

"I do know Thor. We worked together in New York. He seems.. sweet," Natasha was surprised to hear herself say.

"How about the Black Widow? You and Clint are a thing, right?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest. I wouldn't mind there being more, but romantic relationships can be dangerous for someone in my line of work. Darcy?"

"She actually discovered something really cool," Jane interjected, leaning closer and resting an elbow on the laptop to block Darcy. "It's more hilarious than cool. Steve -"

"Aaand that's enough of that," Darcy said quickly, trying to cover Jane's mouth with both hands. Jane batted them away -- evidently Darcy was drunker than her friend after all. Damn.

"Steve is a) a smokin' hottie and b) shaped like a Dorito. Observe," she announced with a flourish, and pulled a picture of Steve up on Darcy's laptop to hold the last Dorito in front of. And thus, Natasha was in on the joke. She couldn't wait to tell Clint, she realized, with equal parts satisfaction and excitement.

"I hope you're not hanging out with Steve to mock him," Natasha said, perhaps a little more sharply than she had intended.

"Noooo no, Darcy likes him, she wants to smoooch him," said wonderful, delightful, beautiful, intelligent, so-getting-murdered-in-her-sleep Jane in a sing-songy voice. Darcy was about ready to melt into the floor. Could she please do that? Please? Or change the subject. New subject sounded good. If she had dared to peek at her new friend Natasha, she would've seen her smiling knowingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry folks, I don't know if I'll be able to take my laptop with me to England. If I can, I might not be able to work on the story. If I can't, you probably won't get more story until I get home mid-March. Miiiight update a bit from my phone on my layover, but really no promises on that front!


	5. Hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuup, I can't get these dorks out of my head and am now writing at the airport.. with the screen as dim as possible and tilted down so nobody can read over my shoulder. I saw a kid wearing a Captain America shirt on my way off the first plane. If I have wifi on the 11hr 20min flight, there might even be another update before the potential radio silence until mid-March. Here's hoping!

Darcy was awoken very rudely by the shrillest, most piercing sound to ever exist. She smashed a pillow against her ear and made loud shouting noises until Jarvis got the hint and turned it off.

Holy. Hell. Darcy had the worst hangover. Uck, her mouth. Her tongue was thick and dry; her teeth felt like mossy rocks. And her head hurt. Had she really let Natasha freaking Romanov challenge her to a  _Sharknado 2_  drinking game? What a terrible idea. It had really been so much fun though. She pawed around for her phone and flinched when the brightness of the screen gave her that distinct ice-pick-through-the-cornea feeling.

_You hungover too?_

_U r the worst intenr ever, im gonna kill u,_ Jane responded. Darcy grinned despite herself. She was grateful it was Saturday and she wouldn't have any replacement-Pepper duties,  not that she'd really had any to begin with. Pepper ran a tight ship. Fortunately for Darcy, everyone pretty much knew their jobs. They also knew anything that might need to be brought to Darcy's attention could easily, and would most definitely, wait until Pepper returned from her conference. She was basically just there to keep Tony in check.

 _Tower still standing. Nothing on fire_ , she texted Pepper. It was getting easier and easier to look at the screen through her hangover fog. Maybe she should get a glass of water.

As she went to sit up the room spun. Maybe she would just stay there for a bit.

 _Are you completely hungover, or just us?_ She asked Natasha. 

_No, I'm fine. Want some water? Orange juice?_

_A fresh brain would be nice, do you have one lying around? Actually don't tell me, I'll hurl if you do._

Despite her normally calm and cool demeanor, Natasha could be really caring, Darcy mused. Not something she'd picked up on at their first meeting. She smiled, rolled onto her other side, and went back to sleep. _  
_

* * *

 

 _Darcy isn't feeling well, can you check on her? Maybe bring her some juice and toast or something._ Steve slowed his run to a walk, frowning in concern and frustration at the lack of details. Wouldn't her friend be a more logical choice? This felt a little.. forced.

_What about her friend? Jane? Joan?_

_Seems Jane has the same thing. :(_

Hmm.

_Why me?_

_I think I have a touch of it myself. We watched a movie together last night and I might have gotten it from them._ Not a complete lie: Natasha _had_ felt a little muzzy that morning, and it _was_ because of the previous evening.

As Steve hit reply, a second text came in, also from Natasha: _I'll be fine on my own, I'm just tired and headachey, nothing Clint can't handle. Wouldn't hurt to check on Jane, too._

Well, if he was checking on _both_ of them, it wouldn't look so... something, he reasoned. Some unnamed something. Stalker-ish? "Oh hey, I heard you were sick, even though you probably haven't left your room or had contact with anybody but maybe Nat since last night." He turned back toward Stark Tower and began rehearsing what he would say in his head. He'd check on Jane first so it didn't look like he'd rushed to Darcy like a worried child. And so he could spend more time with Darcy without feeling guilty over Jane.

If Steve made it back to the Tower in record time, he pretended not to notice.

 After a stop in his own suite for a shower, Steve headed for the kitchen. Even from the hallway he could smell the reek that was still, mysteriously, coming from the kitchen. He made a sharp right and took the stairs down a floor toward the same kitchen where he'd had his first real conversation with Darcy. And where he'd been.. so forward. He stopped just outside the kitchen, hand outstretched toward the door handle but not quite touching.

She'd hardly reacted to what he'd done, and she hadn't brought it up again. For all he knew she was avoiding him. Plus, to press his luck by showing up uninvited and unannounced in her rooms would be the height of rudeness. He took a few steps back and ducked into the stairwell.

_Maybe this isn't a good idea. She probably doesn't want to see me after what I did yesterday._

Nat didn't reply.

Several minutes passed. It felt like hours.

Still nothing.

 _Nat?_ He tried again.

Footsteps in the hallway. He went a couple steps higher on the stairs, hating himself a little for running and hiding from either Darcy or Jane. As far as he knew, they were the only people on this floor, though there were a couple of empty rooms. So, fifty-fifty.

..Maybe a couple more steps. To be safe. And then his phone gave a text message alert. He nearly dropped it in surprise, had it always been that loud?

"Steve?" It was Jane. He didn't know whether to be relieved, but he sucked in a breath anyway and tried for some levity.

"Morning! I was just on my way to, um. Breakfast. Make. The kitchen is, uh, still stinky upstairs." What he wouldn't give to either sink into the floor or learn English already. It was only his first language, for crying out loud.

"Right, ok, I don't care right now. My head is killing me. Can you keep your voice down?"

"Oh, sorry. Yeah. Nat mentioned you didn't feel well. I was going to bring you some toast and orange juice."

"Oh, she _mentioned_ it, did she? That's fascinating. What, _exactly_ , did she mention?" Steve went a couple more steps up, a little shocked by her sudden vehemence. He looked her over, more carefully this time, and took in the bleary, baggy, bloodshot eyes, the pallor, wincing at the volume of her own voice, the sheen of sweat across her forehead and upper lip and the hand pressed to her abdoment -- oh, she was hungover.

Nat did this to them, didn't she, he realized. Had this been a setup? Was Jane collateral damage? Steve felt a twinge of guilt, even though he'd had nothing to do with any of it.

"Just that you, she, and Darcy weren't feeling well. That's all!" He wished he had his shield.

"You. Kitchen. Now," she sputtered, jabbing a finger at him. As she lurched forward again, he glanced at the text message that had alerted her to his presence in the first place. It was from Nat.

_JUST DO IT_

_You did this, didn't you? :I_ He replied quickly and slipped inside the kitchen, where Jane was already pouring herself a glass of juice. Steve sat himself at the table.

"Okay, you listen up," Jane started, turning to face him. "Darcy is not as tough as she seems. She's not like you. She's not like Nat. She's like me. She's normal. And she's worked really hard to get that normal. And you are not gonna take that away and then leave her with nothing, capiche? I mean all or nothing, mister." He nodded mutely. How was that little tiny scientist so intimidating when she got worked up? It was surreal. But he made a mental note of that normalcy comment.

"Good," she continued, evidently not interested in anything he was about to say. "Now. I'm going to take my juice back to my room. If Nat told you to bring Darcy orange juice, it's only because she doesn't know any better. Apple juice is the way to go, the cloudier the better." And with that, she lurch-stormed out of the room.

 _Consider that conversation the go-ahead ;)_ was Nat's response.

 _Eavesdropping or bugs?_ He poured apple juice into a large plastic tumbler.

 _That's for me to know and you to wonder._ Nat was being extra-cryptic, she must've had more the previous night than both scientists combined.

Apple juice poured and toast.. toasted, Steve waffled a few more moments and headed to Darcy's room.


	6. Going Batty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urgh, tired and unadjusted to this time zone. There's going to be some very chronologically close-together stuff at the beginning that might be confusing? Sorry. I'm.. very not with-it at the moment. Probably going to have to go through this later and clean it up. If you notice any glaring holes or inconsistencies, spelling mistakes or wonky sentence structure, please let me know so I can fix it! c:
> 
> Also, I'm not saying everyone from Virginia is racist, but my cousin is a teacher in that general area and most of the stories she tells on Facebook are about things that stand out, and a lot of them sound hella racist.

It was awkward shifting the tray to a single hand, but Steve managed it and had just raised his hand to knock on Darcy's door when Jarvis interrupted.

"Miss Lewis is still asleep. She probably does not wish to be woken." Jarvis had lowered his volume in his best approximation of whispering.

"I got her some juice," Steve stammered unnecessarily. Of course Jarvis could see that. He had cameras.

"Water and ibuprofen would be well-received as well, I believe. She seems to have quite the headache, probably caused by dehydration." Did Jarvis sound.. testy? Or was it just Steve's imagination?

"Oh, uh... thanks. I'll... be right back?" _So Jarvis gives advice on gals now,_ he mused, and padded back to the kitchen.

When Steve returned to Darcy's door, tray now laden with painkillers and water plus some butter and a jam jar, as well as the juice and toast, Jarvis wordlessly and automatically opened it to let him in. Was it Steve's imagination again, or was that kind of loud for a door? He peeked inside, trying not to spy but definitely also kind of spying, and stage-whispered Darcy's name a couple times before stepping in and closing the door as quietly as he could -- which was not very quietly -- with an elbow.

* * *

 The special vibration pattern set for texts from Jane woke Darcy up. Thankfully Drunk Darcy had remembered to put her phone under her pillow. She snuggled down further under the comforter and opened the message, squinting at the bright screen, cranky it wouldn't go any dimmer. Well, cranky in general, if she was being honest. Drunk Darcy never seemed to want to wear pajamas, which Sober Darcy considered more incentive to stay cocooned. Her head was pounding in time with her heart beat.

 _u r welcome_ , it read. _Goddamn illiterate genius. Use real words. They're not that hard,_ Darcy thought nastily.

 _???_  Maybe Jane was still drunk, if that was her reaction to the Black Widow life-sized cardboard cutout Drunk Darcy had sneaked into Jane's bathroom the previous night. Assuming she'd gone to take a shower already. What time was it? Seriously, seven? Fuck, she could've slept more. She had only just hit "send" when she heard the distinct sound of her door opening and, after a pause, closing. Her already dry mouth went dryer, which only highlighted the fuzzy feeling on her tongue and teeth. Ew.

Her foggy cotton-filled mind raced as well as it could through a hangover. Was it a thug? Surely not, Jarvis would've warned her. She dismissed the idea as soon as it occurred. Hydra then? Maybe the Tower had been infiltrated by a bunch of Hydra goons and they'd targeted the computers first to take out Jarvis and then there must have been an Assemble order but Natasha and Hawkeye must've gone down for the goons to get this far unless they landed on the roof in which case Steve must still be fighting and some had gotten past him and were exploring unless Ian had managed to get more intel out than they'd thought -- _wooah woah woah, brain, calm down,_ Darcy thought, trying to force herself to stop spiraling.  _You brought that baseball bat Income Inequality and Political Power gave you when you moved off campus, remember? Think. Where is it?_ She had moved into her off-campus place with it sticking conspicuously out of the box, but that was back in Willowdale. Some people didn't think of that neighborhood as dangerous because the population was mostly white, but they were also the sort of people who thought anyone who looked remotely Asian was "exotic" or "oriental" and then spoke to them loudly and slowly. Oh god, it was so hard to think. Her head had that sinus-infection feeling of being too full.

She'd only lived in that awful apartment for a year before moving to New Mexico to intern, but she'd kept the bat. Moving as quickly and quietly as she could, Darcy felt around on the floor between the bed and the wall. Hopefully she'd put it there out of habit when she moved to Stark Tower -- yes! She pulled it under the covers with her, comforted by the solidity and weight of it, and peeked her head out of the covers. Whoever was in her apartment hadn't made it to the bedroom yet, probably slowed by darkness and unfamiliarity, if Jarvis was well and truly offline and couldn't turn the lights on. It was dark in her room, just a little bit of light coming in through the blackout curtains she'd had to kind of jerry-rig for the ridiculously large window, but she was very used to that and could see well enough. She sat up and looked around. Thankfully, Drunk Darcy was a slob and had left a bathrobe on the floor next to the bed, so she wouldn't have to bash someone's head in in just her underwear. _Mmm, terrycloth. Must be the turquoise one. Focus!_ Ohh, she was really starting to panic. Shit. Shit!

The wooden floor was cool under Darcy's bare feet as she tip-toed to the door. Should she wait for the goon(s?) to try and come in? She'd have the element of surprise, and if there was more than one, they'd be bottle-necked in the doorway and easier to dispatch. But her laptop and backup drives were in the living room. Which meant her dissertation was in the living room. She closed her eyes in frustration. If those were gone she'd have to retype everything from her last hard copy, which was a little over thirty pages and meant two months' work down the drain. Oh god. That made up her mind. As she reached for the doorknob with one hand, she couldn't tell if her stomach was churning from the adrenaline, the hangover, or the thought of retyping everything all over again.

* * *

 

Steve was waffling again. He knew he was waffling. But where should he put the tray? He should leave it in the living room, right? Because going into a lady's bedroom uninvited, even for something so innocent, was not really... something he felt comfortable doing. But the drinks would get warm. The juice might even go bad, though the bottle did say it was pasteurized. And if she had a headache, it would be better to get the painkillers to her sooner rather than later, right?

He pivoted in the middle of the living room again. 

His (unchanged) options were: a coffee table set a little out of the way and where she might not see it when she left her room, a flimsy-looking desk practically bowing under the weight of high-stacked books peppered with colorful plastic tab bookmarks and a laptop, the accompanying office chair, a dark-red-and-green striped loveseat with what looked like cat scratches on all visible corners, or the floor. None of the bookshelves lining the walls were deep enough to really be an option. It was... very bare, actually, almost Spartan. For a woman's apartment it sure could use a woman's touch. Jarvis had unexpectedly brought the lights up when Steve walked in, but he immediately saw why -- the large windows were covered with thick curtains and it was nearly pitch black inside. That explained why she was so pale.

 _She's worked really hard to get that normal,_ Jane had said. Her voice echoed in his memory as he eyed the curtains again.

Aw heck, he was just gonna have to knock. If she was awake, he'd just give her the tray and try to suss out whether she wanted him to go or stay. If she didn't answer, he'd move the office chair somewhere more noticeable and leave the tray on that. He'd been thinking about this too long. It was starting to feel creepy, even to him.

 _If Tony sees the tapes of this,_ he thought suddenly, and strode purposefully toward the bedroom door. He was surprised to feel the flutter of butterflies in his stomach and tried to ignore his nerves as he reached for the doorknob.

The door flew open, revealing an incoherently shouting Darcy in a bright blue bathrobe with a baseball bat raised above her head and already swinging down. Steve jumped back with a yelp. By reflex he threw one arm over his head to protect himself as if he had his shield. Just in time, too -- the bat came down on his forearm hard enough to bruise.

"Woah, Darcy! It's me!" The second impact of the bat was softer and clearly not a swing she could have stopped. His elbow wouldn't be bruised. It did send a twinge down his arm though: a narrow miss on the funny bone. Her eyes were wide and wild, glossy with fear and adrenaline. "Everything's alright. You're safe. It's just me." He tried to sound soothing.

"Jesus, Steve, what the fuck! You scared the shit out of me!" Darcy raised the bat again just to be menacing. It was so hard to be menacing when you'd just charged screaming at someone you thought would be a Hydra intruder-slash-ninja sneaking in to steal your laptop but was actually the American icon who had inspired more than one of your racy dreams, wearing nothing but panties and the ratty bathrobe you've had since high school, but damn if she wasn't going to try. When he reached to take the bat off her she tried to be as nonchalant as possible about prying her bone-white fingers from their iron grip on the handle.

"Hey, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Natasha and Jane said you were -- "  _don't say hungover_ \-- "not feeling well. They said to bring you juice." Which had, miraculously, not spilled. He carefully leaned the bat against the arm of the loveseat.

"I'm afraid I let him in, Miss Lewis. You seemed to still be asleep. When your alarm went off this morning you said you had a headache; Captain Rogers brought pain killers. It seemed the best course of action at the time. Please accept my sincerest apologies."

Darcy felt the wind go out of her sails. She pressed a hand to the side of her face and waved the other dismissively. "Forget it, Jarvis. It's whatever." Reaching behind her to close her bedroom door, she added to Steve, "I'll take one of those painkillers and bee-arr-bee. I'm not actually wearing anything under this robe." She felt a little flirtatious thrill when his worry-wrinkled forehead went smooth and his lips fell open just slightly.

* * *

Steve stared at his hands. Darcy had just gone to get dressed and he couldn't stop imagining what his hands would feel untying that belt and resting on her hips, how soft her shoulders would be as he slipped the robe off them, the curve of her jaw and chin as he tilted her chin up with his fingertips, what her facial expression would be as he leaned down to kiss her. He was so lost in thought that he jumped a little when she poked him in the shoulder. She was standing beside him in flattering jeans and a chunky sweater. It was a bit of a shock to the great hero to realize he was trying not to imagine running his hands along the sides of her hips and under the hem if that sweater, up her back, pressing her against him and nuzzling his nose against her--

 "Natasha probably didn't tell you I'm 'not feeling well' because she brought beer, then invented a drinking game for _Sharknado 2_ that required tequila, did she?"

"Ah, no, she did not." Steve swallowed. His mouth was so dry again. It had never been quite like this with Peggy. What was wrong with him? "I hear you shouldn't mix your liquors like that."

"Yeah, turns out there's a reason for that." Darcy ran a hand through her unruly hair. She almost felt a little bit like maybe she should apologize for hitting him with the bat, but he'd freaking terrified her. He was lucky her taser was in her purse in the living room, for crying out loud! "But hey, thanks for the toast. And the juice." Oh god, was she rambling and twisting her hands together? She hated when she did that.

"It's no problem. Listen, I'm really sorry I scared you. Can I make it up to you somehow? I can show you New York, help you with your research, er, carry your books," he finished lamely at her quirked eyebrow. "What is your dissertation, anyway?"

"Oh, buddy, that is so not a good question to ask unless you're prepared for an answer. Lucky for you my elevator speech is fantastic. It's 'Social and Political Implications and Ramifications of Internet Control and Censorship.'" She couldn't help but laugh when he squinted at her, finally relaxing enough to sit on the edge of the coffee table and grab some toast. Also, score, the jam was apricot and lime. She spread it generously. So yummy. "Basically, what happens when a government tries to control or limit Internet access and what it means we can predict about their current and future actions." She took a big bite to give him time to process. The toast was cold, but hey, she could hardly complain. Captain America, Living Legend was cute when he was thinking. And when he was just, y'know, existing. In general. She took another big bite of toast. "Like how North Korea is a dictator state and barely getting by, and their government blocks outside media and social networking sites to cut any lines of communication so when we look at their country we see a goofy-looking kid with a bowl cut instead of food shortages and labor camps." She finished her toast and slathered jam on the other piece, glancing at Steve's furrowed brow.

"I see," was all Steve said in response. He knew his country had gone to war with Korea, but that had been the result?

"Anyway, I'm sure it's all very boring --"

"No, it's not that. It's just, they used to be okay." He frowned at his hands again. There was an awkward pause.

"So! You mentioned a tour of the city?" _Shit._ She hated crowds, wasn't really a fan of big cities -- which was why she'd gone to Culver, in unincorporated Jackson County -- and didn't like being looked at, which she most certainly would be if she went out in public with a smoking hot famous guy.

Steve's frown smoothed out a bit. "Yeah, I was thinking on my motorcycle. If you wanted. Our we could take a car --"

"No, motorbike is great." Face-obscuring helmets and the perfect excuse to hug him? That would probably be okay. Would probably keep the panic at bay. As she finished off the second piece of toast and licked the crumbs off her fingers, she glanced at Steve. "Got another helmet?" She could feel the start of a wicked grin.

"As it so happens, I do," he said, and grinned back. "Want to go today? Might be crowded on a Saturday, but I know some back roads that should be practically empty."

"Shouldn't be too bad in the morning, right?" He nodded. "Great, it's a date. Let me go get my leather jacket and we can go." And with that, she flounced back to her room and closed the door behind her.

A...date. _Okay, Rogers, play it cool. You can handle this._ He stood and fidgeted a bit. He sat back down. He prayed Tony wasn't going to watch the security footage. Did he even have cameras in here?

"Alright, let's go," Darcy said, closing and locking her bedroom door. Her back was turned, giving him the perfect moment to just look at her. Her brown leather boots had slight heels, and she'd lost the thick sweater in favor of a plain t-shirt and one of those looping circle scarves. A leather jacket was draped over one arm.

Steve didn't trust himself to speak. He had to control the urge to hold his arm out for her to take. It was only when they were standing in the elevator headed down to the parking garage that he realized he should probably say something.

"I didn't realize you were so much shorter than me," he blurted out. Internally he cringed.

"Practically a hundred and still can't talk to girls," Darcy said with a sigh, letting him see her smirk to show she was teasing. He did a double-take and groaned, closing his eyes and sweeping a hand down his face.

"That bad?" How embarrassing. Darcy laughed, not unkindly.

"No, it's fine. And dude,  it's only like six inches."

"Yeah, in heels..." Darcy laughed and punched him on the shoulder. She smiled that same secretive, mischievous smile as the elevator doors opened.

If he wanted to start something, calling her short, she was absolutely not afraid to finish it.


	7. Oh Brooklyn, Brooklyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Steve's first date, which is totally not a date, even though it's totally a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! It was a real bugger to write.

Steve's bike was parked almost against the close wall, furthest from the exit but close to the lockers lining the wall. Darcy looked away as he opened a locker, shrugged her jacket on, and arranged her scarf over it. She felt awkward and out of place staring down the line of expensive cars and black-tinted fleet vehicles. Not to mention that a guy like Steve was totally out of her league. He was probably just being nice to her because she was new and didn't make friends easily. A large, boxy, black SUV parked a little way away was polished to such a high shine she used it to fix her hair.

"Ready?" Steve asked, holding the spare helmet out. Darcy was relieved at the tinted face shields -- they'd attract way less attention that way, thank goodness.

"We'll look so mysterious with these things on, it's like being a spy," Darcy said, for lack of anything better to say. She probably should not have said anything in that case, she reflected, because she sounded like an awkward teenager.

"Makes it harder for tabloids to make money off hounding me -- can't prove it's me and not some random guy if you can't see my face. It helps." A small frown flashed across his face and was gone. "Anyway, I grew up in Brooklyn, so I was thinking we could go 'round there instead of Manhattan? Manhattan used to be residential, all construction workers' places. None of these ritzy shops and - and boutiques." Maybe he'd be extra smooth and point out all the places he got beat up...again.

"Sure, dude, wherever. It's nice just to get away from a big project sometimes, y'know? Helps you clear your mind so you can think clearly again." As if she'd even gone near her dissertation or her research at all in the past several days. "I'm in your hands."

There were a lot of things Steve could think of in response to that. Instead he huffed out a chuckle and put his helmet on, visor up; Darcy followed suit. He checked the strap on her helmet, nodded in satisfaction, and swung a leg over the Harley.

"So should I just, um, get on? Where? How am I supposed to do this?" Augh, she hated learning or performing something new in front of an audience. Especially one whose opinion of her actually mattered. Hated, hated, _hated_ it! "How do I avoid making us crash and eat asphalt?" Was she squirming? She felt like she was squirming.

 Steve laughed lightheartedly. "Sit on the back, lean with me, and don't put your feet down. Your feet go here --" he twisted around a little and nudged the rests with his heel -- "and if you put them on the ground it might drag us off balance. Oh, and keep your knees tucked in on sharp corners." Was that a hint of wicked smile she saw?

With only one false start, Darcy swung her leg over the seat. It was more difficult than Steve had made it look, all graceful with practice. She was careful to leave several inches between them as she got her feet settled on the rests he'd pointed out. Where was she supposed to put her hands? Just, right on him? What was she _thinking? Was_ she even thinking? She should be focusing on her dissertation, which she was going to have to finish eventually. And then _defend_. To a group of people who were older, smarter, and more experienced than her.

Just the thought of that made her a little light-headed. Usually she managed to avoid thinking about that part. The sudden rumble of the Harley's engine snapped her back to the present.

"You'll probably want to hold on," Steve called back over the noise of the bike. Maybe this was a bad idea. Darcy was so tense, keeping her distance like he was going to bite her or something.

"Let's just go! Quit stallin', Cap," she responded, sounding much more flippant than she felt. She snapped her visor down over her eyes. To be honest she felt a little queasy, and not hangover-queasy. Thankfully _that_ had passed. Steve snapped his visor down and pushed something on the side of his helmet.

"Can ya hear me?"

"Ooh, intercom. Very fancy!"

Steve chuckled softly, low in his throat; the sound combined with how the helmets' radios made it sound like he was standing just behind her, reminding her of The Mug Thing, was downright erotic. Ohhhh, she was getting in way over her head here. Shit.

"Ready, Darcy? You really should hold on. Or we can take a car if you'd prefer that," he offered. But he was really hoping she wasn't going to go for that. He felt her hands rest tentatively on his shoulders.

"Okay, ready," she said, not really sounding at all ready. And for all that she could be mouthy and talk a big game, she was actually a little bit scared. Not that she would admit it, not even to herself. She grit her teeth, willing the trembly feeling to go away.

"Here we go," Steve cautioned, and let the bike surge forward as gently as he could.

Darcy _might_ have squeaked a bit as she tipped back, hands sliding off Steve's shoulders and feet coming up. Thank god he couldn't see her ungainly recovery. Clearly, she realized, now was not the time to be coy about it. They were still moving as slow as the bike could go; Steve even had his feet skating along the ground. There was nothing else for it but to put her arms around him. It was that or fall off at some point, probably sooner than later.

As Darcy's arms slipped stiffly under his to cross over his ribcage, Steve could barely keep from leaning back against her chest. He was practically aching for contact, feeling like that gangly kid from Brooklyn all over again. But Darcy was keeping her distance still, holding herself back from leaning flush against him, and he remembered what Jane had said that morning -- _she's worked really hard to get that normal._

_All or nothing._

Steve's quiet, gentle route through the city helped Darcy get used to the huge rumbly bike. There was a time when she'd wanted a bike just like this, but she'd never actually been on one. It felt more exposed than being in a car, more vulnerable, but also more thrilling. She was vaguely surprised to realize she was grinning as the bright morning light washed over them.

The streets were much quieter at this time of day -- too early for tourists and too late for drunks stumbling home. The only people around were on their way to work, sipping coffee, checking watches, folding newspapers. Ignoring them. It wasn't so bad with the scents of espresso and baked goods overriding the usual Manhattan smells of humanity and car exhaust and asphalt. They drove past a flower shop just opening for the day and Darcy twisted to watch the steel gate roll up.

"The first day I moved to the Tower, I made the mistake of going to the grocery store without even a pair of sunglasses," Steve began, not sure what else to talk about. He felt Darcy shift as she looked forward again.

"How far did you get before someone asked you to show up at their kid's birthday?"

"I think I had one foot about halfway through the door," he exaggerated shamelessly just to hear her laugh. "'Woah, Captain America! Can you pose with your shield? Come to my boy's birthday!' Who brings a shield to a grocery store?"

"I dunno man, those extreme couponers can get pretty vicious. You don't wanna get between them and their 35 boxes of cake mix." In that, she spoke from experience: a couponer had practically trampled her to get at a specific cake mix brand. She'd broken a toe. It was an ugly scene. "But did you go?"

"What, to the birthday party?"

"Yeah, man, you could make a killing off of birthdays! Here, I'll be your manager and I'll pimp you out to all the WASPs who throw birthday parties for nephews whose names they don't bother to remember just so they can meet you. We'll be rich," she could barely speak through her laughter, "and I'm sure there'll be a spunky octogenarian you can sweep off her walker."

"Oh, I prefer a younger lady," Steve joked, wiggling his shoulders at her in lieu of his eyebrows.

"Is that so? Any particular one, or just generally a cradle-robber?"

"Ma'am, that is a matter of national security, I'm afraid I'm not authorized to disclose that information." Steve's Coulson impression was spot on. If only Bucky could see this -- he had just successfully flirted with a lady; Bucky would be so proud! The gentle thumps between his shoulder blades were probably Darcy's helmet as she snorted with laughter. They settled into quiet as first Central Park, then the city, scrolled by. There was enough momentum when they hit their first red light that stopping scooted Darcy forward, closing the inch-ish gap between them that had felt increasingly awkward and forced, and she held on tight enough when the light changed to keep from falling back.

Steve was struck by the intimacy of it when they took a sharp corner coming off the bridge. They weren't talking much except for "look at that house, what a hideous shade of orange" or "driver in the red Ford is picking his nose" "is that the Statue of Liberty" or "what did that bumper sticker say," but he could feel her body moving with his as he leaned into the turn. He could feel the muscles in her thighs as she clamped her knees to the bike. Her arms were firm around his waist, hands flat against his ribs and tucked inside his bomber jacket, now, instead of curled into the unthinking fists they'd been when they'd left the Tower. He could feel through the changes in pressure of her chest against his back which direction her head was turned.

Between the steady rumbling vibration of the bike, the solid warmth of the man behind the shield, and the unfamiliar scenery slipping by without requiring any input from her, she felt like she was practically in a trance. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been lulled into such a feeling of security like this. It was like nothing mattered. Nothing could touch her. Dissertation -- who cared? Ian... who again? It wasn't that she felt she could take on the world so much as she felt like she didn't _have_ to. She didn't have to be perfect. It was okay that her hurry to get dressed had left her hands shaking and her eyeliner _slightly_ uneven (and, really, it wasn't as if anybody could see it anyway). That hollowness she'd gotten listening to Jane gushing on and on about Thor the previous night stopped pressing on the inside of her ribs. As the wind teased under her jacket collar, she found herself hard pressed to care about how tangled her hair was going to be. And normally she'd feel a lot less, hmm, safe? in a city she didn't know with someone she'd spent a lot more time imagining conversations with than actually having them. Yes, safe, that was the feeling.

It was definitely a feeling she could get used to.

"I got beat up in that parking lot," Steve said. He felt idle and carefree and yet strangely tense, more attention than was probably safe focused on the woman behind him instead of the road in front of him. "We're in Brooklyn now, by the way."

"Oh, charming," Darcy said dryly, raising her head to look around. Darcy realized her cheek had been resting against Steve's back much later than he did.

"Never did like bullies." Over the helmet speaker it sounded like he was grinding his teeth. Darcy resisted the urge to stroke his arm reassuringly.. but only barely. She settled for bonking her helmet against his back.

"Woah there, tiger," was all she could think to say. That line he had about bullies was probably the number-one reason she had started liking him in the first place. He'd been her favorite historical character since she was a kid because he stood up to bullies. She'd learned in school that his parents had died -- his father in the first World War and his mother of tuberculosis -- but it just boggled her mind that a) he'd been bullied for being an orphan, as if someone needed more pain on top of being alone and b) he'd turned out to be such a normal guy, none of the emotional hangups, freaky habits, or rock-bottom self esteem she'd gotten.

"When I was a kid," she heard herself saying, "I was bullied really badly by these girls in my class."

"Yeah?" Steve pitched his voice low, trying to speak quietly enough to be encouraging but loudly enough that the mic would still pick it up over the engine.

"I went to an all-girls school from first grade through high school graduation, but not for preschool. Which apparently was when all the cliques formed." She paused, ostensibly to pay attention to a turn, then laughed hollowly. "First day of first grade I went to introduce myself to the girl sitting across from me and she looks me up and down, rolls her eyes, and tells her friends not to talk to me. So they told their friends not to talk to me, and they told their friends, and by the end of the first week nobody in any grade would look at me even if I stood right in front of them and poked them with a stick. I just got in trouble for poking people with sticks. Even the teachers did it eventually, pretended I didn't exist. They'd leave my name off the seating charts and _forget_ to pick up my homework with everyone else's." Her head dropped forward against Steve's back again. Even in her relaxed daze it was exhausting to remember. "I never got beaten up or anything, but a teacher emptied a stapler around my desk when one of my sandals broke wouldn't stay on. Kids sitting behind me dipped my hair in glue or paint so I always had to keep it short, which looked wild with the curls. It just gave them more fodder. Our classroom aide -- they were like, students from a higher grade getting extra credit by helping -- she poured rubber cement on my head and called it spooge. I was eleven." She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling her shoulders hunching in again. Why was she telling him all this stuff? He didn't want to hear it, and it wasn't his business anyway. He was just being nice. Now he was going to think she was a child. Pathetic. Helpless and hopeless. Might as well get "Stay Away: Damaged Goods" tattooed somewhere visible.

"And you never think you should tell someone or that it can be stopped, because it's just the way things are and you're so small and powerless," Steve said, still speaking low. Darcy's hands were curling up again, her body curved so her helmet was the only thing against his back. He pulled into a parking lot and stopped, but let the engine idle. "I understand." Steve slipped his hand under his jacket to touch the back of hers soothingly. "It's okay." Was he allowed to feel encouraged when she didn't pull her hand away? Was he a jerk for being so doll-dizzy at a time like this?

Darcy's eyes prickled. His hand was hot to the point of scalding, but she didn't mind.

"So what are we doing here, in this extremely interesting parking lot? Tell me the historical significance of this parking lot," she said in a rush, very vulnerable and desperate to change the subject.

"I, uh, caught a Hydra assassin near here. There's a jetty. But it didn't save Dr. Erskine." He frowned. He wasn't exactly giving her a nice tour of the city. C'mon, Steve, get it together. "Actually this is also where I first used a shield. It was a trash can lid. Then there was the cab door, which happened to have a star on it, and I've always wondered if that was kinda how my entire uniform was designed." He shrugged. "I come here to think sometimes."

"You come.. to the parking lot?"

Despite himself, Steve snorted. "It does sound a little bizarro when you put it that way," he had to admit. "But hey, this was supposed to be a tour of Brooklyn. My Brooklyn. Guess we should start at the beginning."

"Ehh, chronological narratives are overrated. Do the best parts first."

Steve drove slowly around the district, where even at noon some businesses were only just opening. He pointed out alleys where he'd been beaten up, a theater he went to with Bucky and two gals who were both so focused on his friend he wasn't sure it was supposed to be a double date, the radio hall that used to pay him a quarter to sweep, the McDonalds that used to be the Italian restaurant whose owner would give him entire meals on the regular because Steve saved his young daughter's life taking out an armed robber.

"And it's a McDonald's now? They went out of business? That's terrible!"

"No, the Italian place moved. They're still around. It's the guy's granddaughter now."

"You sure it's not his great-great-great granddaughter?"

"Very funny." They leaned together through a corner.

"Oh, I'm glad we agree." Steve could hear the smirk in her voice and relaxed a bit. "It's cool it's still open since so many locally owned businesses get pushed out by larger chains and it can destroy the local economy."

 _I'd like to take you sometime, if you'll let me,_ Steve wanted to say, but something about their waitstaff working at McDonald's and having to move because the pay was so low came out instead. He felt Darcy nodding, the edge of her helmet rubbing his shoulder blade. He imagined it was her chin instead.  _Get it together, Rogers,_ he thought sternly.

 "Can we check it out? Is it close, or..?" _Or would you rather keep this as short as possible?_

"Yeah, it's close enough. Hungry?" Steve's heart soared.

"I could eat, yeah," she replied as casually as she could. More like _I skipped dinner and all I've had since yesterday was toast and sexual frustration._

Steve grinned into the foam helmet padding. He felt like humming.  Luck was certainly a lady today! He pulled a u-turn at the next light -- and tried not to feel like a pervert as he relished Darcy's body moving in sync with his. _Ignore it, ignore it, ignore_ \--

Darcy poked his ribcage. "Dude! Pay attention!" She poked him again and he had to clamp his elbow down over her hand to keep his balance. Apparently he was ticklish.

"What?"

"I do beg your pardon, Captain Rogers, but an Assemble order was issued. Please rendezvous with the others at Stark Tower." Jarvis sounded genuinely distressed.

"Did Stark put you in my helmet when he did the radios?"

"I'm afraid so, sir." Who knew an AI could sound so sheepish?

"Of course he did. Sorry, doll, looks like we'll have to get lunch later." He felt Darcy's shoulders slump. Now, that? That he was _definitely_ going to take as encouragement.

"Yeah, I should work on my dissertation anyway. Rain check?"

"Rain check," Steve promised, and the ride back to the Tower went all too quickly.

* * *

Darcy spent the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday working on her dissertation. She was on a roll, churning out page after page and editing previous chapters like nobody's business. Her new "get shit done" soundtrack, full of video game "keep things moving" music, was working wonders.  _Score one more for the Internet,_ she thought, stretching and looking in satisfaction over everything she had accomplished. It had helped to keep her mind off how Steve had Assembled the previous afternoon and hadn't gotten back yet. If she had his number she'd probably text him to make sure he was okay. Maybe. But she didn't have his number, so that was an easy decision to make. Not texting him would be too cavalier; texting him would seem too clingy and open a door she wasn't sure she wanted to open. After their weird Maybe Date? she wasn't really sure where things stood.

Okay, that wasn't entirely correct. It would open a door she hella wanted to open, but was scared to.

Natasha's number, however, she did have. The Black Widow would know what was going on. She always knew what was going on with everyone.

_Still fighting bad guys?_

Darcy pulled her favorite turquoise robe over what she thought of as her Writin' PJs -- a scraggly tank top and fleecy American-flag-printed pants with worn-through pockets -- and dropped her phone in the deep pocket. It was definitely time for dinner. Or breakfast. First meal of the day, whatever. Who cared if it was past midnight? It was definitely breakfast. She shuffled down the hall. The freezer presented her with Eggos; Eggos it was. She was brushing her teeth for bed when her phone buzzed.

 _Kicking ass and taking names :)_ was Nat's response.

 _Stay safe,_  she replied, and tucked her phone under the pillow. Her sheets were so beautifully soft and her room pitch-black. Darcy fell asleep almost instantly.

* * *

 

Steve finally came back from whatever their secret mission had been and wanted to watch more movies with her. Of course Darcy agreed. He still owed her lunch too, she wasn't above reminding him. He laughed, his head tilting back, one hand against his chest. His other hand brushed her hair back from her face and stilled. He stepped forward to close the short distance between them; his eyes were burning into hers. Slowly, as if afraid of spooking a wild animal, his arms encircled her, and he pressed her gently against his chest. She felt safe and protected. Steve was holding her tightly, but she didn't feel confined; rather, she knew that if she pushed away, he would let her go.

So she took a breath and let her hands come out of her pockets. His back was warm, and as he laid his cheek on the top of her head and adjusted his embrace, she could feel his muscles move through his cotton check shirt. As he stroked her hair all her tension melted away. Nothing could touch her. It was just like on the bike. Muscles she hadn't even known were tight, which was like, all of them, started to relax. She leaned into him, enjoying his solidity and the dizzying mix of his laundry detergent and aftershave, plus something more organic and masculine.

She felt rather than heard him speak. When she tilted her head to ask what he said, she was almost surprised at his proximity. He looked at her lips and she could actually see his pupils dilate. Experimentally, and kind of just to be a shit, she arched her back so that her body was pressed against him in a much more provocative way. Steve gasped, his hands clench and twisting her shirt. She was further rewarded by something -- so mysterious, whatever could that be -- pressing against her hip.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you." His eyes were hooded.

"You know it."

"You're killin' me, dollface," Steve groaned, and leaned to press his nose into the crook of her neck. Her head dropped back almost of its own accord and she felt his lips skim over her ear.

" _I'm_ killing _you?_ Oh, please. Ah--" his breath went tickling down the side of her neck. As one of his hands found its way tentatively under the hem of her shirt and the other ran slowly down her waist and along her hip, she heard herself, to her own embarrassment, moan his name.

"Miss Lewis?"

What was with the sudden formality?

"Miss Lewis." He sounded distinctly British. "Miss Lewis, I'm afraid your alarm has been going off for several minutes. It's time to get up." Jarvis?

Oh god, that was Jarvis.

That was a dream.

Ohhhh god. She was definitely in way over her head. That was.. actually really hot. Okay. She sat up and scrubbed both hands over her face.

That was definitely something to examine.. later. After her dissertation defense. For now: get up, get dressed, get breakfast, get paid.

* * *

Two more days went by with no word from the team. The lab wasn't uncharacteristically quiet, since it wasn't like Jane typically shared with Bruce and Tony when Pepper was home, but it felt big and empty with just the two of them as normal. For some reason Darcy kept expecting Steve to walk in. _Just wishful thinking_. She sighed.

"Okay, seriously, if you sigh one more time I'm going to fire you."

"You can't fire me, I'm too cute to get rid of."

"Seriously, Darce, what's eating you? Worried about Ste-e-eve?" Jane's suggestive eyebrow waggle was over-the-top enough to make Darcy laugh. Of course she'd told Jane all about their aborted Maybe A Date? at the first opportunity. She'd never known what she'd been missing by not having a best friend before now. Or a friend. She'd always thought she could and had to go through life alone, completely independent, and it was a bit of a shock to the system to find out she couldn't. Didn't have to.

"No. Well, yes and no. I think I'll have my dissertation done in the next few days and then it's just editing and bibliography stuff. It's like, where did the last two years go? New Mexico, London, New York City? I never thought it would turn out like this."

Jane came over and sat on her friend-slash-intern's desk, suddenly concerned. "Is this not what you wanted?"

"It's not that, it's just.. I don't know. It's good. It's just different, I mean..."

"It's good, and that scares you, and the fact that it scares you also scares you," Jane finished. Darcy looked up at her friend, honestly a little surprised at her insight.

"Did you get that from Natasha?"

"Yeah, I did." She at least had the grace to look abashed. Just as Jane planned, Darcy couldn't help laughing.

* * *

Darcy finally dropped into bed just before midnight. She never did get the chance to tell Jane about her dream. She was just tucking her phone under her pillow when it buzzed -- a text from Natasha.

_Incoming ;)_

Enigmatic, but she was too tired to ask. She shoved the phone back where it belonged and was drifting off to sleep when Jarvis spoke up.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss Lewis, but Captain Rogers is asking if you are awake. What shall I tell him?"

"Huh? They're back?" She blinked stupidly for what felt like an eternity.

Then she launched out of bed.

She took a breath and opened the door slowly, so as to appear nonchalant and casual, but her heart was racing. There, in her hallway, wanting to see her, was Captain fucking America, uniform and all. And he looked like hell. A bruise had bloomed and was fading on the bridge of his nose, only just visible through the eye holes of his costume, and he was leaning on the wall for support with one arm. His chest had an awful scratch straight through the suit and into the flesh. There were abrasions on his knuckles. He raised his head just slightly and looked at her through his eyelashes.

"I know it's not very proper or polite to just -- to just show up here like this," he started, and fell to his knees in the darkened hallway, head bent. He looked so lost. Darcy couldn't help herself.

She knelt beside him and reached out, tentatively, then took him by the arm and led him into her apartment. He moved slowly, through molasses or a dream.

Steve couldn't see in the total darkness, but he could feel Darcy's confidence and was too tired to argue anyway. She led him into her bathroom and plugged in a set of Christmas lights rather than turning on the abrasive overhead lamp. The low light was calming as she peeled off the mask to dab his scrapes with stinging alcohol-soaked cotton swabs and swipe neosporin on with q-tips. He just sat on the lid of her toilet and let her tend to him. It was domestic-feeling, something he had yearned for for probably his whole life. It was soothing.

A gentle tug at the hem of his shirt prompted him to remove it. He winced as it scraped across the abrasions peppering his arms, chest, and back. Darcy kept working silently, wiping away hurt and dirt and blood with a warm washcloth. He leaned back and closed his eyes. His pants she left alone, not feeling _quite_ that emboldened by her dream and near-complete dissertation. When she was done she smoothed his hair with one hand as a signal. It didn't feel right to break the silence with words. He turned his face toward her hand. His breath was hot against her wrist.

They stayed like that for a long moment.

Darcy moved first. He followed her hand with his chin for a moment before opening his eyes. He followed her out of the bathroom, no longer Captain America, now just Steve Rogers, shirtless and very sore in a woman's apartment in the dead of night. The tightness of his pants was both a blessing and a curse as he finally took in what Darcy was wearing -- soft-looking shorts and a tank top full of holes that hugged her curves. He swallowed.

Darcy felt a little drunk on the intimacy of what they'd just done and the relief of knowing Steve was safe. And that he'd sought her out. And, if she was being honest, on sleep deprivation too. All she wanted was to recapture that blissful protected feeling from before and to comfort Steve. He seemed to need it. There was a weariness on his shoulders that went beyond exhaustion from fighting.

She paused in front of her bedroom door. On the one hand, it might give him the wrong idea, but she didn't know what the right idea was anyway. And the apartment had come with a king-size bed. And either one of them would get awfully cramped on her little sofa, or awfully cold on the floor. On the other hand... there was no other hand.

Steve allowed himself to be led much the way a tired child at the airport might allow himself to be carried: with little interest in their surroundings except to note that they were somewhere new, and thinking only of the comfort of rest. Darcy clicked on a small lamp and climbed into bed, wiggling to the far side and leaving the covers folded down. She rolled onto her side facing away from him and hugged the edge of the bed to give him plenty of room.

It was a pretty clear invitation.

"I don't have my pajamas," was all Steve could think to say. Darcy hesitated a split second and shrugged one shoulder.

Steve turned the light out a bit shyly and peeled off the rest of his uniform. Every muscle ached. He eased into the strange bed.

"You okay?" Darcy whispered. He loved the husky sound of her voice in the dark like this. It was a balm. He didn't answer for several seconds. The blankets rustled as she turned to face him.

"I couldn't save them all," came his broken whisper. He turned toward the comforting hand Darcy reached toward him and caught it with his fingertips; he was asleep before he managed to draw her close.

 


	8. Just for a moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That evening / the next morning! : )

She'd been pretty wiped out before but god _damn_ if Darcy was gonna fall asleep now. Even though her eyes were burning with the need for rest. Steve's slow breathing helped keep her own from racing but now that the drugged feeling of their closeness had worn off she was all but tearing out her hair. She touched him. She had actually touched him.

And she'd been okay. Had been better than okay.

And was in fact still touching him. That was still happening. And she was still -- she took very careful stock -- okay. Ish. Mostly. Her heart rate was a little faster than usual, which was usually anxiety but might in this case be excitement? That would be a new one. His fingers were partially intertwined with and curled around hers, his thumb over the back of her hand, which was itself resting on his chest. His other arm, the one closer to her, was curled loosely with his hand under the pillow. Darcy could feel the heat radiating off of him.

In the light from the city seeping around the edges of the almost-blackout curtain she could just make out the planes of his face and a five o'clock shadow. Even in sleep he looked a little troubled. Did he always look like that when he slept?

_Woah there, creepy thought. Stop that._

She shifted carefully and considered her options. How light a sleeper was he, like, could she just pull her hand away and he'd stay asleep, or was this a _Mission Impossible_ extraction kind of situation? Experimentally she loosened one finger but froze when he turned a pouty sleeping face toward her with a whining, snuffling sort of sigh. Okay, she had to admit his pouty face was freaking adorable. If he ever turned that on her she'd probably give him whatever he wanted.

It was going to be a long night. Maybe this was not the best idea she had ever had, she reflected, nose-to-elbow with the Star Spangled Avenger. She could definitely feel his body heat now. Hmm... It was a painstakingly slow process to detangle herself and scoot her feet to a sweet spot near his calves (she hoped he was wearing underwear, because he was clearly not wearing pants or a shirt) where she could feel his heat but (hopefully) he couldn't feel the cold of her toes. Or at least it wouldn't wake him up.

Every muscle grew tense as she lay paralyzed. It was like needing to pee when you have a sleeping cat on a foot that's slowly falling asleep. This was _so_ not going to work. Darcy whined. He shifted a little, pulling her hand and thus her body closer. Now her forearm lay across his chest and her head was twisted awkwardly, neck arched painfully back to avoid resting on his arm. Was he doing this on purpose? If he was she was going to _kick. his. ass_. Though he didn't really seem like the type.

 _Really though, what would it hurt if she_ did _rest on his arm,_ asked a little voice in the back of her mind.  _Surely nothing._ And she couldn't do this forever. Her neck was already cramping with the strain. She held her breath as she moved again. If she was sweating, it was only because she felt like she was practically disarming a bomb.

It was almost a full minute before his arm was under her head and another two or three minutes before she started to relax. His bicep was warm, firmer than expected, and almost the size of her face. Not that she cared if a guy was all muscley. Not exclusively. That wasn't all she cared about. He also had to be -- she stopped herself there. Now was so not the time. Darcy began to get that safe, protected feeling back. As tense as she'd been before, now that she'd accepted his presence for whatever that meant, she felt herself relaxing. She felt like this was where she belonged and no power on earth could tear her away. For the first time for longer than she could remember, she felt content around a guy.

She'd never really thought of herself as a cuddler but this was pretty okay. She felt sleep coming for her and let it wash over her. She'd worry about disentangling herself first thing in the morning, before he woke up and regretted anything. Or everything.

* * *

Steve stirred. His first impression was a more profound calm than any he'd felt in a while. That, and his entire right arm was asleep. And there was something in his left hand. He moved his fingers experimentally, wondering what it -- it was a hand. A small woman's hand.

Whose--?! His head whipped round so fast it strained his neck. He could hardly see anything -- might as well have had his bleary eyes closed except for a faint rectangular wash of light fading in from behind thick curtains. Where in the hell--?

Getting all worked up wouldn't do him any good. He took a deep steadying breath. And smelled something minty. Minty and familiar. It reminded him of....

Darcy.

Finally the previous night started coming back to him. How he had ridiculously showed up outside her rooms, how she'd cleaned him up, how he'd fallen into her bed. He had the vaguest memory, more an impression, of desperately wanting to hold her close.

Had he forced her hand? Done or said something he was too tired to remember?

Though surely, if that had been the case, she wouldn't be sleeping so peacefully. One of the smartest, mouthiest, prettiest women he'd ever had the chance to meet, and she was curled up against his side, her hand in his, as if it was the most normal thing ever. He'd be fine, he decided, with this being his new normal.

For now, though, if he didn't get circulation back in his arm, it was going to fall off.

Shifting as gently as he could, and moving more carefully than he could ever remember moving on a mission, he rearranged himself so Darcy's head was on a pillow, his right hand was curled between them and holding whichever of her hands that was, and his left arm was slung over her, high on her waist, hand resting against her back. He touched his forehead against hers and closed his eyes; this time when he fell asleep it was with a smile on his lips.

* * *

Pepper looked at Tony over the rim of her coffee cup. She liked quiet mornings like this, when he'd just gotten back from a mission and was too tired to be a sarcastic little shit. _A_ lovable _sarcastic little shit_ , she amended. He had managed to wrap himself up in the entire duvet, without waking up, in the ten minutes she'd been up. It really was a remarkable talent. He was a genius. She rolled her eyes, but smiled indulgently, before backing out of the doorway and closing the door softly behind her.

Quiet mornings like this were one of the reasons she loved her job so much. Not to mention that a man who was very, very smart with technology and engineering could be very, very stupid with money. Pepper considered the gold-plated Lamborghini she'd stopped him from buying the previous month. Thank goodness it had been with the business account and thus needed her approval.

With an effortless grace Pepper folded herself onto a sofa in the living room of their spacious penthouse to review the security footage of the previous night. She always liked to make sure everyone got back to their rooms without any hitches, especially since that one big green and angry incident a few months back. Jarvis had it loaded on her data pad; she skimmed to the relevant time stamps.

There was Tony, arriving in style but with that wino's stumble he developed when he was exhausted. Poor Jarvis was having a hard time with one of his boots, especially because he kept trying to move his foot. She made a note to have Tony look at the boot later. After he'd slept about twelve more hours. He looked like he'd pulled a muscle in his back, too.

There was Natasha, with a slight limp and a mocking salute delivered to the camera at the end of her hallway. And Clint, dragging his feet and cradling one arm. Pepper checked the infirmary log -- he was there now and had a compound fracture and a dislocated shoulder. He'd be alright.

Where was Steve?

Pepper scanned through a couple of camera feeds, perplexed. She was sure Tony would have said if something happened to Steve. Much as they didn't always get along, it wasn't like there was real malice between them. She frowned. She'd find him.

In the end, Pepper had to go back to the parking garage and fast-forward until she saw Steve's motorcycle pull in. The harness his shield clipped to was looped around the handlebars, and when he threw his helmet into a locker she realized one of the straps was shorn clean through. She watched him lean against the wall of the elevator and hit three different buttons before getting his floor. He made it halfway down the hallway, stopped, turned around, and staggered back into the elevator.

He really looked like he was in bad shape. He was still wearing his winged blue helmet, for starters, a sure sign of exhaustion; but he also had bruises and abrasions on every bit of visible skin and several cuts straight through the suit. She frowned with real worry this time, making a note to have some new materials tested for his uniform. Captain America looked like hell.

He stood in the empty elevator for six solid minutes before punching the floor below him. By the time it arrived, he was supporting himself with one hand against the wall and using his shield as a cane, and kept that up all the way down the hallway to a door. Jarvis provided subtitles of their exchange, there was a pause, and the door opened. Darcy Lewis, of all people, helped him up and closed the door.

Well, she certainly hadn't seen that one coming, but if there was anything she loved to do, it was meddle. Pepper put the data pad down on the end table. This might be the perfect solution to two of her problems. And by "her problems," she meant "other people's problems, which she had adopted." She smiled and zipped a command off to Jarvis before leaning back to enjoy her coffee. 

* * *

Steve stirred first. He felt like a cat in a sunbeam, all warm and content. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like that. He reveled in Darcy's warmth where she was curled against him, in the slow, steady rise-and-fall of her side and the way the gray dawn light kissed her cheekbone. The thrill he got deep in the pit of his stomach from gently pushing her hair back from her face and seeing her slightly parted lips was unlike anything he'd quite felt before, though, really, just because he was a gentleman didn't necessarily mean he was a virgin. Except maybe when that blond had kissed him, back during the war, but even that wasn't really the same.

It felt good to be think he was protecting someone (though, of course, he was not protecting Darcy; there was nothing here to protect her from, for starters, and secondly she seemed like the kind of dame who could handle herself). Especially when he knew, logically, that he couldn't save everyone, but he still felt like that scrawny kid from Brooklyn unable to stop the bullies all over again whenever someone slipped through the cracks.

There was a distinct possibility he was still staring at her lips. He reflexively licked his own, surprising himself.

So that was how things were, then.

He was going to need to examine that feeling at some point, but right now he just wanted to stretch this out as long as he could.

But as badly as he wanted to stay in that moment forever, one of Darcy's knees was pressing into his abdomen and he desperately needed to use the restroom. As he disentangled himself from Darcy he heard the rhythm of her breathing change slightly and tried to be more careful; getting his arm out from under her neck was the hardest, but she rolled onto her back and that helped some. He closed her door silently and padded barefoot across the chilly living room to the bathroom in nothing but his boxer briefs, imagining a scenario where Darcy woke up slowly beside him and laid her head on his shoulder, and he skimmed his hand gently over her shoulder and down her arm.

Darcy came around as he closed her bedroom door. Steve didn't hear her sit bolt upright in bed and feel the dissipating warmth where he'd been lying so close to her. Of course he didn't hear her panicking and getting dressed as fast as she could, nor did he hear her whispering a constant litany of "shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck" under her breath or tiptoe-sprinting through her living room. It was only as he was washing his hands, daydreaming about their first kiss, that he heard her front door open and close. By the time he managed to get the bathroom door open, after frantically and judiciously wiping soapy hands on his bare legs, she was long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not sorry


	9. Shall We Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy panics and starts avoiding Steve; Natasha has a plan.

Steve was devastated. He must've been such a brute, but exhaustion had nearly wiped his memory. And he'd taken Darcy sleeping beside him as encouragement. But what if it wasn't? What if she'd just been trying to be nice to him and he just kept reading too much into it, like when she'd tried to keep her distance on the bike? Which, on second thought, had maybe not been a date after all. She'd probably just needed a change of scenery after working so hard on that paper for so long. But he hadn't seen her for days, and she couldn't have been holed up in her room that whole time. He'd tried loitering around the kitchen on her floor, which had felt creepy; he'd gone past Jane's lab, which made him look and feel like a stalker; he thought he'd seen her in the hall at one point, but it had just been her hair and the back of her coat disappearing into the stairwell, and she didn't turn around when he called her name.

If anybody knew the inner workings of a woman's mind, it was Natasha. He probably changed his mind a half-dozen times before settling on a text that was brief and to the point: _I think I screwed up. Advice?_

 _Mission accepted,_ her response read. Whatever that meant. He sighed in frustration and went back to pummeling the punching bag. When it went sailing across the room, sand spilling everywhere, it was only to join the other two.

* * *

 It wasn't so much that she was avoiding Steve, it was just that... she was going to some lengths to be not in the same room as him. Like, she wasn't avoiding him, she was turning in her dissertation and setting her defense date. As in, she wasn't avoiding him, she was hanging out in Jane's room and mocking deliciously shitty B horror movies to celebrate. For example, she wasn't avoiding him, she was taking the stairs six floors down because she could use the exercise, and she was just too busy to stop and chat even though he'd called out to her. And she hadn't pretended not to see the folded piece of paper with his cell phone number and the words "text me?" left on her coffee table, she'd just swept it onto the floor with the hem of her bathrobe by accident. (Strictly true, but she'd heard it hit the floor and then seen it.)

She wasn't _avoiding_ him, she told herself, as she put on the bluetooth earpiece she'd linked to Jarvis and spent the better part of an hour convincing the AI to use to warn her if Steve was coming. It wasn't as if she'd wheedled Jane into going to to get the thing for her as soon as she could. She just needed to sort through some shit. Ian was not the only reason she had trust issues, but it hadn't helped that he'd been her first relationship since high school. If you could call it a relationship when someone lied to you for months to gain your trust, took advantage of your position to sneak into then-SHIELD's base and your relative inexperience with guys to pressure you into things you weren't comfortable doing, drove a wedge between you and your best (only) friend by implicating you in his double-crossing, and led you to believe every single little thing was somehow your fault, that is. If that was what she'd been missing by staying in the library to study and putting up walls between herself and her classmates all throughout undergrad and grad school, she figured she was better off for it. It had been lonely sometimes, sure, but feeling like there was nobody you could depend on but yourself as you put yourself through college with loans and three part-time jobs was better than being used and manipulated. As if her self esteem really needed to go down a notch. Or ten. Ugh, she had to prepare for her defense too. This week could not get any worse.

So she'd panicked. Under the circumstances it had seemed like the best option, but now.... What could she possibly say that could ever make it okay? "Hey, sorry I ran, I've had a rough life and it freaks me out that I let my guard down around you and it freaks me out that _that_ freaks me out and as much as I do like you I think you deserve better than an emotional cripple whose last relationship nearly caused the downfall of the entire freaking country and who hides behind sarcasm and craves affection but can barely stand to be touched?" Yeah. Not so much.

She was so embarrassed and ashamed she could hardly stand the thought of facing him. He was so, well, _him_ , and she was so... her. Darcy sighed, shoving her laptop away and not caring when she knocked several books off Jane's desk. It wasn't like the scientist would notice, with the piles of books and scientific journals scattered all over the place. Jane was one of those aggravating people who believed the floor was the biggest shelf in the house.

After she'd bolted the previous day, she just didn't know what to say to him. Poor Jane had been so confused when Darcy, who Jarvis had said was too ill to come to the lab, had scrambled into said lab and bolted the door. It'd taken Jane several minutes to piece together what had happened from what she could coax out of her intern-slash-friend, and while it seemed like a good step in the right direction, even the socially clueless scientist could see that Darcy was on the verge of having a panic attack. The bluetooth was Jane's idea. She'd spent the rest of the day holed up with her laptop in Jane's quarters pacing with nervous energy or typing like a woman possessed. She could just picture the heartbroken look on Steve's face, that pouty sad-puppy look she'd seen the other night, but probably about a billion times as effective because she already felt like shit for causing it.

Since Jarvis said Steve was in the gym about thirty floors down, Darcy dragged her sorry still-in-pjs ass to the kitchen. She'd skipped breakfast and lunch (did the kitchen upstairs still stink? What if Steve came in?) and was ready to gorge herself on whatever she could find and make the fastest. Which turned out to be mac and cheese.

She was just stirring the cheese powder into the melted butter and pasta when Natasha walked in. The spy didn't make any effort to conceal her presence, strolling casually to the fridge.

"Can you believe the kitchen upstairs still reeks?" she said, by way of an ice breaker. _I'm sure it has_ nothing _to do with the stink bombs Clint and I ordered off the Internet to encourage you two dorks,_ she did not say.

"Oh, r-really? That's awful," Darcy responded with forced levity. She felt like a bug under a magnifying glass -- and the Black Widow was either going to inspect or fry her.

"Hope you don't mind if I use yours," she continued. Darcy shook her head. What was she going to say, _yeah, get out_? "How's the dissertation going?"

"Oh, um, I had a burst of energy and just finished it actually, turned it in and everything. My defense date is set for next week. Thursday the fifth. I can't believe it, after all this time and all this work it's finally here. I thought I'd feel more ready for it, y'know?" Darcy knew she was rambling, but the longer she talked about her dissertation, the longer they'd stay on the topic of her dissertation without moving on to other, more dangerous topics. Like Steve. She knew they were friends. To cover her fidgeting she shoved a truly huge spoonful of mac and cheese into her mouth.

"Show me your game face," Natasha said, and glanced over in time to catch Darcy's eyes widen over orange-cheese-sauce smeared lips and extremely full hamster-style cheeks.

They both burst out laughing. Darcy had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep from spitting out macaroni.

"That's hardly going to help matters," she deadpanned. "Try a different lip color and maybe some clean clothes. Not so much the tank top. Something in red. Or black." Not that she was especially partial to those colors.

"Oh crap, I totally forgot -- I have to wear formal clothes. I don't _own_ formal clothes! Formal clothes are frickin' expensive!" Darcy could feel the panic bubbling up again. Her fingertips were getting tingly. That one big bite she'd just taken started churning in her stomach and she wondered vaguely if she was hyperventilating.

"Woah there, it's okay. I can swipe Tony's wallet no problem." She could, and she had, and she would. "Let's see what you have already, and after the weekend rush we can go shopping if we need to."

The look of relief and gratitude on the younger woman's face changed her mind: Natasha wasn't doing this for Steve, she was doing it for Darcy. Darcy shared her mac and cheese with the ex-KGB spy and, several hours later, they realized that almost everything she owned that could even be mistaken for formal had holes in it. By the time Natasha headed upstairs to her own quarters, she had accomplished three things: first, arranged a girls' day out Monday to get Darcy some battle gear; second, figured out exactly what had happened from Darcy's point of view (poor girl had just panicked, she could hardly be faulted after Ian and what was evidently some baggage from even further back); and third, most importantly, gently nudged forward the idea that Steve wasn't mad and Darcy should text him.

* * *

Darcy, sitting on her scratched-up sofa after Natasha had gone, fidgeted with the folded piece of paper Steve had left her. She knew her avoidance game was childish, really she did, but right now was just so.... Not great, timing wise.

Not like she'd ever really feel ready. Especially not for someone who was literally a living legend. How could she ever measure up? It would be so much easier not to try than to try and fail so publicly. Would she and Jane have to leave the Tower if something went wrong with Steve?

Natasha had kind of given her the impression Steve wasn't doing great. Something about punching bags? She frowned. When she flicked the paper open, it still had those same numbers on it. Darcy practically had them memorized by now, but she still copied them into her phone slowly, checking each digit as she entered it and reading through the whole thing a few times. Just in case she needed it for some reason. Never hurt to be prepared. She refolded the paper and flicked it open again about a dozen times.

This was getting her nowhere.

Darcy gave up with a sigh and went to brush her teeth.

Four hours later, she was still awake. Her room was dark and silent except for the sheets rustling as she tossed and turned. The mattress was right on the cusp of too soft - not bad enough to go through the hassle of replacing, but not firm enough to draw her into sleep. Maybe it was time to replace the damn thing after all. She dragged her phone out from under the pillow and tapped away through Jarvis's request tree, which, _obviously_ , was _way_ easier than it would've been to just ask Jarvis out loud to get her a harder mattress.

If she fell asleep right now, she would get three and a half hours' sleep.

She rolled onto her stomach, suddenly irritated. Why had she fallen asleep so readily with a guy she barely knew right next to her, but now she couldn't even though she was exhausted? It was some bullshit. She imagined what questions they might ask her at her dissertation defense.

If she fell asleep right this exact second she'd get two hours' sleep before she had to get up. Though, really, did she have to get up? With Thor in town as of that afternoon, Jane would probably be a little preoccupied tomorrow. Last time Thor was in town Jane didn't even go to the lab, she just went off to the middle of some desert to look at the Milky Way at night for like a week without any warning. With no work, her only plan was shopping with Black Widow, who was going to help get what she'd called "battle armor" for Darcy's defense.

Maybe it was her cold feet keeping her awake. At this point, she was willing to try just about anything to fall asleep. With a huff she shoved herself out of bed and pulled her sock full of rice out of its drawer. Maybe it'd help if she had something warm to put her feet on. She fiddled with the knot at the top of the sock on her way to the kitchen. Why didn't all their rooms have their own kitchens? It wasn't like Tony needed to save the money. What a tightwad. Though, she thought Jane's had a kitchenette. Served her right for intentionally taking the room the builders had messed up on. She should at least have a microwave.

Maybe she should text Steve. Now. Right now. Her exhaustion was beginning to erode her inhibitions, she knew, and that wasn't likely to happen again any time soon. Besides, what were the odds he was up at, what was it now, five-ish? When the microwave dinged she grabbed her warm rice sock and went to sit on that comfy green love seat to compose her text. He was definitely asleep, it was probably safe to text him now, right?

* * *

 Steve was not asleep.

He was actually out for his morning run, slapping the hand Sam held out every time Steve lapped him around Central Park. At first he'd jogged with the man and tried to get a feel for more modern sensibilities where women were involved (without,  of course, naming names), but he'd gotten too frustrated with the pace and taken off.

Steve paused to pull his phone out. Not that there had been a message any of the other dozens of times he'd checked.

1 NEW MESSAGE, the screen read. There was a string of numbers where it would usually say the sender's name. _Darcy?_

Steve unlocked his phone so fast he almost threw it across the park with the force of his swipe. 

 _sorry for being such a shit. I panicked_ , it read. So she wasn't angry with him. Didn't rule out avoidance, but this was a good sign. He knew he'd been pressing his luck the other night, but he'd just needed contact so badly, to be comforted and fussed over. Honestly he barely even remembered how he got from the garage to her door.

_No worries, doll. Ok now?_

There was a long pause. Maybe she'd fallen back asleep; Darcy did seem like more of a night owl. He headed back to the Tower.

_Going shopping with Nat today and haven't slept all night, am I gonna die?_

He wasn't sure how to respond to that. _Dissertation trouble?_ That was probably safer than _thinking about me?_ which he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know. At least, not if the answer was no. Thankfully he'd been living in Stark Tower just long enough that he didn't need to look where he was going as he waited for her reply. He stepped out of the elevator at his floor.

_Just turned it in actually. I have to defend it on the 5th. Nat wants to help me get some battle gear? Whatever that is. My definition of nice clothes is "not full of visible holes" so.._

_Want help picking something?_

_I'm sure you have better things to do than sit outside waiting rooms._

Well, yes, he did have a meeting today that was probably going to be very, very long, he had to admit that. He couldn't get out of it either. Damn. It wasn't so much the waiting outside dressing rooms he was interested in. He didn't dare ask her to send him photos, but he wanted to. So badly. Anything picked out by a spy like Black Widow who used her opponent's weaknesses against them and her own femininity as a weapon, well... he wanted to see that.

 _Only because Fury would lose his marbles if I skipped out on another meeting,_ he typed instead, and stepped into the shower.

 _Would you say he'd be... furious?_ was waiting for him when he was done toweling off.

* * *

Darcy exhaled slowly. That wasn't as bad as anticipated. Heat from the rice sock slowly seeped into her chilled feet -- much better. She finally dozed off, phone in hand, with her legs draped over one arm of the green love seat.

It was a text from Natasha that woke her several hours later: _Ready to go?_

 _As I'll ever be,_ she responded. Natasha didn't need to know how badly crowds could freak her out or how exposed she'd feel trying clothes on in public. Grabbing the now-cold rice sock she went back to her room to change quickly and met Natasha by the side door, who smirked and held up a leather bifold that was probably full of Tony Stark's credit cards. She was serious about that? Darcy couldn't help but laugh -- it was a good start to their day.

It wasn't as crowded out as she'd feared. The good luck she'd had on her Maybe A Date? with Steve seemed to be holding. For how long remained to be seen, but for now, she'd take it.

"So, battle gear? I'm not really sure what you mean by that," was Darcy's opener as they walked.

"Clothes that make you feel confident and comfortable. In this case, also something that looks professional, educated, and a little intimidating."

Sweet.

After striking out at the first three stores, Natasha finally found something for Darcy to try on. There'd been plenty that Darcy thought would work, but every time she held something up to show Natasha, the spy had shaken her head, lips pursed. She even rolled her eyes at one of the dresses. At that point, Darcy pretty much just drifted along behind Natasha. But the charcoal-gray dress Natasha shoved her into the fitting room with was anything but her usual style.

Once she had the thing on (and really, who puts zippers under the sleeves? Sheesh), Darcy frowned at her reflection with her hands on her hips. It did look good on her, but it was shorter than what she usually liked to wear -- the skirt came to just above her knees -- and it was practically skin tight. She liked the cap sleeves, and the fabric was nice, but she felt a little exposed.

"C'mon, let's see it." If she pretended not to hear Natasha, she'd just give up, right?

As if.

Natasha poked her head past the fitting room curtain and whistled. Darcy could feel heat rising in her cheeks and a glance at the mirror confirmed she was definitely turning red. She looked away.

"Well?"

"We'll take it," Natasha said. "And we'll keep shopping."

Darcy twisted around to pull the tag out from under her armpit. "Dude, this dress is $450! Jesus!"

"It's not like we can't afford it," Natasha said, and flapped Tony's wallet at her again.

Ten minutes later Darcy was carrying the most expensive piece of clothing she had ever seen down the streets of New York City. Six shops and five outfits later, bags, shoes, and jewelry included, Darcy was wiped out. They'd even gotten her some new bras and underwear, which she'd desperately needed (the woman who sized her told her most women were wearing the wrong size bra and not to feel bad). She was looking at bags of clothing that cost more than she had probably spent on clothes, cumulatively, ever. Zippers under the sleeves were surprisingly common, and once she knew to look out for them she could try stuff on way faster. Much less getting stuck with her arms tangled over her head and calling Nat to save her.

"We're on the right track so far, but I don't think we've found exactly what we need yet," Natasha mused when they stopped for lunch, as if speaking to herself. There was a distinct possibility she'd taken photos of Darcy in the dresses she'd tried on and sent them to Steve. His responses were getting better and better. She was really enjoying this whole thing. Aside from teasing the poor Captain, it felt amazing to do something so normal. Normal wasn't always the best, and it wasn't really something she felt the need to strive for, but she'd seen just enough 80s coming-of-age movies that she felt a little left out sometimes. "We might need another shopping day."

"You've gotta be kidding me," Darcy groaned. She tried to eat slowly, but she could only take so long before Natasha got bored of waiting and dragged her out of the cafe.

"There, what about those?" Natasha had her finger pressed up against a window, pointing at a pair of very expensive-looking matte black heels.

"Well, I mean, they're cute, but they're proba--" she was cut off by Natasha hooking their elbows together and dragging Darcy bodily into the store, bags rustling and crinkling.

The shoes turned out to be Louboutins. Fucking Louboutins, which even Darcy had heard of but never seen in her life before meeting Pepper. The description on the box was "high-back collar pumps, matte black," and they screamed sophistication. They weren't as hard to walk in as they looked, she was surprised to discover. Also surprising: how comfy they were. _Not bad dot j-peg_ , she thought.

They didn't even have a price tag on them. Vaguely she hoped Tony wouldn't be terribly angry as she handed his credit card over.

If he was, he could always talk to Natasha about it.

Natasha dragged her into two more stores looking for the perfect dress to go with those shoes, but finally: a sleek little black dress with pencil skirt, cap sleeves, and something the tag described as a "Queen Anne" neckline, stopping just at her knees. Her legs looked fantastic in those heels, too. Darcy stared at her reflection and had the sudden impulse to send Steve a shot. There were only a few precious seconds, she knew, before Natasha would just come barging in, so she hurried to pull it out of her bag and snapped the photo over her shoulder so the intricately edged cutout in the back reflected in the mirror. The picture message with the caption "maybe this one?" was still sending when Nat walked in. Why did all these places have curtains instead of proper doors that locked?

 _Not that a lock would probably help_ , she reflected.

"That's the dress for your dissertation defense," Natasha declared immediately. It was almost as much of a relief to have her wardrobe sorted out as it was to hear she could finally go home and get off her aching feet.

* * *

Steve had just about gotten used to the pictures Natasha was sending him -- every single one of them of Darcy in a dress that hugged her curves, thank god for the conference table. This meeting was dragging on and on. It was supposed to be a debriefing of his most recent mission, the one he'd come back all beaten up and stiff from, and was full of desk jockeys who'd never been in a fight or developed an attack strategy but had managed to get their hands on some satellite footage and were trying to ream his team a new one. How Black Widow had managed to finagle her way out of it he'd desperately like to know.

His phone had been silent for nearly two hours, all throughout their brief recess for lunch, when he got another message. This one was from Darcy. He took a sip of coffee to hide his smile just seeing her name come up on his phone.

He nearly choked on that coffee when the attachment loaded and started fake-coughing to cover it when the whole room turned to look at him. He waved his apology and waited for the droning to resume before he turned back to the photo. Thank god for the conference table.

_Looks incredible. Getting it?_

_Got it,_ she responded. He almost groaned aloud. Now he needed to make good on that rain check as soon as he could, change it to dinner instead of lunch. The meeting seemed all the longer with his impatience to see Darcy again, even though he kept looking at the picture she'd sent; but when it was finally over, he had to stay and shuffle papers around to look busy while the room slowly emptied. More importantly, while his half-erection died down.

Thank god for the conference table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god I had four shots of espresso for lunch and couldn't stop typing "rice cock" someone help me


	10. Definitely Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make up your minds, you two. Are you dating or not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fwahhh so sorry it's been almost a week! D:
> 
> Hopefully this will help make it up to you: http://adoritofrombrooklyn.tumblr.com/

_Thanks for picking my clothes out. They look great, and I had fun,_ Darcy texted Natasha. She'd probably need to get a wardrobe or something now. Her closet had already been a little crammed -- very neatly organized, mind you, but also very crammed. She kind of had a thing about throwing out clothes she could still get away with wearing. So what if that shirt had holes in the sides? That was what cardigans were for. And coats. And even though she'd never been particularly girly, she was kinda liking these new clothes, courtesy of a certain Tony Stark. Credit where it was due, only one or two of the clerks she'd handed his card to had reacted to the name.

 _You should wear the defense dress in public to get more comfortable in it. It's shorter than what you usually wear and you can't be pulling at the hem._ Nat's responding text message was right to the point. A few minutes later, another message: _I had fun too. :)_

Awww.

"Miss Lewis, Miss Potts has deposited your bonus check for being her stand-in while during her conference," said Jarvis. He always sounded so calm and unflappable. Obviously it was because he was an AI, but it was still comforting. She pulled her laptop closer on the bed and checked her bank account. Holy _shit_ that was a lot of zeros. Wow. After a self-congratulatory glass of wine (or three), Darcy bought a wardrobe from the website of one of those build-it-yourself furniture stores. Just because the closet was bigger here than any of her previous closets (and, indeed, some of her previous bedrooms) didn't mean her organization-oriented brain could just shut off. Plus it was pretty. And now, she had the money for a Giant Fancy Thing.

 _Nat says to wear the new dress out somewhere. Ideas?_ On second thought, Jane might not even answer. Thor was in town.

_dinner w steve duhhh_

_I can't just ask him out out of nowhere!_

_sure ucan go fr it gurrrl_

Evidently Darcy wasn't the only one who'd been drinking. Maybe.. maybe it would be worth a try. He did owe her that rain check, but that was for lunch. And that was definitely not a lunch dress.

Worth a try?

 _You still owe me that rain check._ How many times could she possibly reword such a short sentence before sending it? A lot, as it turned out. Really a lot.

* * *

Too tired and horny to think about proper dinner, Steve went straight from the meeting room to his suite with a folder pressed firmly over his crotch. He needed to deal with this -- it was becoming painful. Dancing around Darcy for the past week or so had been a delicious torture, but now he would give anything to feel her against him. The thoughts that dress picture had incited in him were anything but gentlemanly.

He flung the folder on his coffee table and went straight to the bathroom to shower. A cold shower was just exactly what he needed. Undressing, it was difficult not to look at his healed-up and unmarked skin without remembering Darcy's doctoring, her gentle hands, the scent of her shampoo, her brow furrowed slightly in concentration as she leaned over him, her mouth so close --

A cold shower wasn't going to be enough. Feeling vaguely guilty but trying to ignore that Irish Catholic upbringing just at the moment, he took himself in his hand as he stepped into the shower. Imagining the water was Darcy, hands and mouth all over him, he brought himself off incredibly quickly, coming so hard his knees nearly buckled and he had to brace against the wall.

Hopefully now he'd be able to go ten minutes without thinking of Darcy like that. She was smart, and strong, but guys thinking of her like that and only like that was probably one of the reasons she had such high emotional walls in the first place. He was gonna make good on that rain check, he told himself firmly, and he was not going to think of having sex with Darcy once. Not _once_. It was just going to be a pleasant lunch between two friends and that was it.

Steve stepped out of the shower and toweled off, finally wondering vaguely about dinner. All he'd had all day were those crummy sandwiches. Not very sustaining.

He remembered that dress and thought again that he'd have to change that rain check to dinner. Somehow. For now, maybe he'd just look at the picture while he picked at yesterday's chicken leftovers.

He felt a little skeezy pulling his phone out to look at her picture again, but when he saw Darcy's text he also saw his chance. He thought she'd been giving him little signals, and she did seem to be flirting with him -- and then there was that picture, her hair scrunched up in one hand to show off the back of the dress, the look on her face as she stared up at her phone through her eyelashes. Maybe if her asked her out she'd say yes? The uncertainty was kind of thrilling.

 _You're right, I do. When do you want to go out?_ He didn't mean, _out_ out, as in, _on a date_ out. Or did he? He wasn't sure anymore. He used to think he was too busy to go out.

Her response came agonizingly slowly. _Can we go out before my defense? Natasha said I should wear the outfit out to get used to it._ As he was typing his reply, another text came through: _It's not really a lunch dress though, more like a dinner date dress._

Natasha should be sainted, he decided.

 _I can't do lunch Tuesday or Wednesday. Sorry, doll. What about dinner?_ And it was true, he had plans. A haircut, for one, and he hated to cancel appointments. Wednesday he was going to Tony's lab to check out some new suit materials.

_Yes to dinner. Dinner tonight? I'm starving._

_Sounds great, I'm hungry too. Pick you up in ten?_

_Perfect. It's a date._

Was it though? Was it a date? Or was that just a phrase she used? Maybe he wanted it to be a date. Maybe he wanted to go steady. Steve sat on the edge of his bed to consider that for a few minutes.

He had to get ready!

Steve toweled his hair roughly as he surveyed his closet. Jeans would be no good, obviously. Khakis were too casual. Black it was. He grabbed a cobalt-blue button-down and some socks, yanked a belt through its loops, shoved his shoes on, and tripped over himself getting out the door, finger-combing damp hair on his way down the stairs.

* * *

Darcy wasn't sure she was ready for this date. Her eyeliner was -- she checked for probably the twentieth time -- perfectly symmetrical. Her lipstick was smudge-proof. There was no spinach or pepper or anything in her teeth. Deodorant: check. Underwear: check.

Sweaty hands: ew, check. She almost rubbed them on her dress but caught herself in time. Sorry, bathroom towel. Butterflies: double check. God, it was just dinner. _Calm down, self_ , she admonished.

 _It's a date_ , she'd said. Her inbox was still empty. _Pick you up in ten,_ said the message that had arrived nine minutes ago.

Well, he still had time.

Right?

She was _not_ going to pace in the living room waiting for him. Oh, wait, who was she kidding? Yes she was. Absolutely yes she was. She hadn't put those heels on yet, thankfully.

The knock at the door startled her so badly she nearly jumped out of her skin. She grabbed her shoes and opened the door, once again to Captain fucking America. He was even upright this time. And he was looking at her like she was an oasis in the desert.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

"Uh, let me get my shoes on. Just a sec." She had to hop a little bit with the second one; Steve put a steadying hand on her arm. His hand was so unbelievably warm. She'd read, of course, in the history books, that his metabolism was much faster than an ordinary human's, but it didn't really prepare her for his warmth. It took her by surprise every time.

"You look stunning in that dress. Those professors aren't going to know what hit them." _Or where to look,_ he didn't say. _Or what to do with their hands._

"That's the idea, I guess?" She shrugged her leather coat on. "Okay, let's blow this popsicle stand."

They exchanged banter in the elevator, but neither of them was really paying attention. Steve was trying to work out if this was a date (it probably was? Fancy clothes plus Italian restaurant, it kind of added up), and Darcy was anguishing over having used that phrase in the first place (she realized she wanted it to be, for sure, but did he? What if she'd freaked him out and he backpedaled and left and ugh she was so _stupid_ ).

Steve didn't relax properly until they were on his bike. He tapped the intercom on. Darcy was pleased with herself -- she mounted much more smoothly this time, but there was a bit of a problem.

The dress rode up _a lot_.

Shit.

"Hey, uh, Steve? Look, I don't think this is going to work, I mea -- don't turn around! I didn't mean that literally!" She scrambled gracelessly off the bike, yanking the dress down over her underwear. Thank fuck she had her visor down so the helmet hid how bright red she was. She felt that familiar warm prickle working its way down her neck and arms -- oh, great, now she was full-body blushing too. Her arms were covered by her sleeves but she hadn't zipped the jacket all the way up yet. When Steve risked a glance round, her chest was visible and probably extremely pink. He probably wouldn't notice that, right?

Steve hadn't yet flipped his visor down. She saw his eyes flick over her, she practically felt it. He definitely noticed. And he looked a little confused, which was heartstring-pullingly similar to his sleeping-sad-puppy face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push y--"

"No, that's not, I mean, you didn't, that isn't the.. the dress rides up." She fidgeted with the hem. It was shorter than what she usually wore, at least without leggings -- she could reach the hem, for starters. She felt about ten years old as the realization dawned on Steve's face, leaving his cheeks a little pink.

"Why don't you ride sidesaddle," he suggested, sounding a little hoarse. "Put your knees on the left and we'll just take the turns carefully." She nodded and sat sideways on the back of the motorcycle. This definitely didn't feel as stable. Darcy wrapped her arms around him much more tightly than she had the first time around. She could feel the vibration in his chest when he asked, "Got your balance? Ready?"

"Think so," she said, and pressed her helmeted cheek against his back for stability. The bike roared to life and they scooted very slowly and gently out of the parking lot.

Riding sidesaddle wasn't so bad, as it turned out. She got to see a lot more of the city without craning her neck, for one thing, and once she got used to it it was kind of nice. She kept a death grip around Steve's ribcage, but he wasn't complaining and she wasn't about to let go.

And boy, was he ever not complaining. He decided he was definitely okay with this being a date, if that's what it was. Steve allowed himself to luxuriate in the feeling of Darcy's body against his back and her arms around him. As they took a sharper turn than he'd intended into the restaurant parking lot, he held one of her knees with his left hand, helping brace her with his arm and keep her from sliding with the turn. She didn't say a word beyond a simple "thanks," and she didn't pull away.

It was definitely a date.

Right?

Darcy jumped off the bike as Steve killed the engine and unclipped his helmet. When he turned to look at her, she was bent forward, one hand combing through the hair hanging over her face; when she flipped it back again, he felt his heart skip a beat.

"Helmet hair's a real bitch," she said by way of explanation.

"I'm sure." He had no idea.

* * *

The hostess had evidently met Steve before; she treated him like a normal person, none of the staring and reaching for an autograph pen Darcy assumed he must get pretty frequently. The restaurant was quiet and unassuming, with the requisite scent of garlic and pasta, red-and-white checked tablecloths, and carved wooden chairs she'd kind of expected. Regularly spaced were tall, round iron candelabras so covered in candle drippings they looked like wax mushroom caps someone had stuck lit candles into. It was romantic. There were a few occupied tables, mostly couples, and Darcy put her hand on Steve's offered arm -- she could feel his heat even through his bomber jacket, or was that her imagination? -- as they were shown to a back corner out of the way. A soft string of whispers followed them to their seats and died down as the celebrity sighting lost its novelty.

"Good to see you again, Steve. And you must be Darcy, so nice to meet you. Darcy, yes?" Darcy nodded mutely at the older woman who'd brought them water. "Okay, good. Thought I'd put my foot in my mouth again! Not that it ever stays out for long." She winked at them both conspiratorially and gave Darcy a good once-over. "You were right, Stevie, she's a cutie. Good for you finally getting your act together. Let me know when you're ready to order!" And she sashayed away, leaving Steve blushing furiously at his lap with his shoulders hunched and Darcy gaping after her.

"That's the owner, Marta," was all Steve could offer. "She's a, ah, a firecracker."

"Should I ask?"

"Please don't," he croaked.

Darcy took pity. Poor Steve looked as embarrassed as Darcy had ever felt. She looked at the menu. If she'd been thinking straight, she would've looked at it online before even agreeing to come here. But, of course, she hadn't been. Oh well. Everything looked good. She glanced up at Steve, who wasn't even looking at his menu. He was just looking at her, still rather pink in the cheek, as if hoping she'd forget what Marta had said. _Fat chance, bucko,_ she thought.

"You look like you already know what you want."

"Well, I do come here frequently enough. I used to come here all the time, before. I always get the same thing anyway."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"I tell them to surprise me."

"Sounds like a plan."

Steve signaled Marta and they placed their orders with minimal match-making attempts on the owner's part, much to Steve's relief. Steve didn't want Darcy to think he'd asked Marta to say those things. Darcy found it all hilarious; she didn't mind seeing Captain America all squirmy and school-boy blushing, either, even when Marta elbowed her in the shoulder and stage-whispered "he's quite the local hero, you know." What would have been overbearing and unpleasant somehow came off as harmless and fun when it came from Marta. Steve watched Darcy smiling as she watched Marta's mingling. She was all softness and smiles here, away from the Tower. It was like her walls had come down. Marta had that effect on people. It wasn't why he'd brought her here, but damn, he enjoyed it. It was indescribable, getting a peek at the woman behind the mask.

Throughout dinner -- pasta with mussels in a red sauce, and creamy prawn risotto, both to die for -- they chatted about nothing in particular. Darcy told her favorite story about the time Jane accidentally used molasses instead of shampoo, back when they were waiting for Thor to come back. And how Star Trek had first gotten her interested in political science. Steve told her about the time Bucky stepped in and saved him from getting his ass whooped, suddenly wearing an army uniform, and what it was like to know your best friend was going off to war and your asthma and general scrawniness meant the army didn't want you. And then the serum.

He skated carefully around Peggy. Darcy had probably read all about her anyway.

The evening went by too quickly. Unbelievably quickly. Darcy convinced Steve to try her tiramisu and he shared his honeycomb Gelato.

Eventually, too soon, it was time to leave. The hostess pointedly blew out the candles and the only people left were Steve and Darcy. Reluctantly they headed for home -- Darcy was surprised when the clock by the door read nearly midnight. Steve offered his arm again. Darcy even leaned her head against his shoulder as they crossed the parking lot.

Yes, it was definitely a date. He wondered if he should kiss her (on the cheek?) when he saw her to her door.

Darcy perched on the bike behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling a little like a cat, all boneless sensuality and smirks. Idly she ran a finger up and down one of his ribs. She was rewarded by a low groan that sent a thrill through her. Hmmmmmm.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, she gradually loosened one death-gripping hand and let it roam his chest. She felt the ridges of his collar bone, brushed her fingertips against his throat and felt his pulse racing.

"Dollface, please," he all but moaned. "I gotta watch the road." He stilled that distracting hand as it began to slip south down his side. "Plenty of time for that later," he murmured, trying for sultry and not sure if he succeeded.

"It's a date," came her laughing response. He enjoyed the feel of her laughter against his back, her hand in his. He gave it a squeeze before reaching for the handlebar again and was gratified to feel her return it.

* * *

The elevator ride was strained. They each wanted to do something, to touch or kiss, anything. Each was hyper aware of the other's presence, their proximity. And of Jarvis. And the security cameras. By unspoken agreement they wanted to keep this away from Tony, who meant well but could be kind of a dick.

As they reached Darcy's door, standing so close to each other, Steve suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands. He'd planned to kiss her goodnight, but now that it was coming up he was starting to panic.

"Come in for a night cap?" It took Steve a moment to process what she'd said.

"Yes! Uh, yes. Sure."

He followed her into her darkened living room, completely blind once the door swung closed. He was just reaching for her hands when she started lighting candles. She'd already made it to her desk, sure-footed in the dark even though she'd only been there a few weeks, and was pulling more candles out of a drawer. Some she left on the desk, but most of them she grabbed like a barmaid on a busy night and arranged on the coffee table and the tops of the bookshelves. Not knowing what else to do, Steve sat on the sofa with his arms stretched along the top.

"Alright, I gotta take these shoes off," she said, even as she realized they weren't pinching her feet or uncomfortable. "And I'm gonna change before I ruin this dress somehow. Do you mind if I put on PJs?"

"No, no, go for it," Steve stammered.

When Darcy came out of her room she was wearing capris and a long-sleeved shirt that reminded him of his own cotton workout clothes. He rolled his sleeves up just below the elbow. Was it getting warmer in here? As she sat beside him, her shirt caught on the back of the sofa and rode up a bit. She didn't seem to notice or mind. She tucked her feet up under her.

If he dropped his arm off the top of the sofa it would be around her. He liked that idea and was trying to think of how to make it subtle when Darcy tickled his ribs.

"You look so serious," she complained, and tickled him again. He huffed a laugh.

"That's -- not fair!" He tried to defend himself, one arm around Darcy and pulling her arms away, the other hand covering his ticklish spot, to no avail. "Mercy!"

But she was relentless. He was half on his back against the sofa's arm before he managed to retaliate. She twisted away from him and almost fell, off balance with their legs tangled together. It was instinctive to catch her, draw her in close.

Very close. 

Oh. 

Darcy was not terribly surprised at this turn of events. She'd kind of been trying to get closer, to get him to relax. And now they were practically nose to nose, her entire upper body pressed against him. His pupils were dilated, his lips slightly open. She distantly registered that the hand that had caught her had released its grip on her arm and was sliding up to rest lightly on her shoulder blade.

His breath was hot against her lips and they were so close. He was still staring up at her, desire clear in his eyes, but it seemed he was going to wait for her to make the first move. She felt his breath hitch when she licked her lips, his eyes flicking down to her tongue as it darted out.

Hell, why not?

Softly, slowly, she came closer. Darcy felt like she was in a trance. Her lips were just barely brushing against his when she felt his sharp intake of breath and he surged up to meet her. It felt like he was all over her, kissing with the urgency of delayed gratification, his hands now in her hair, holding the back of her neck, now pressing down along her back as if he could bring her closer than she already was. As his hands came to rest on either side of her waist, he slipped his thumbs under the hem of her shirt and was rewarded by a soft whimper that went straight to his dick. Her skin was as soft as it looked. He wondered if he'd be able to draw her just from the impressions from his hands.

Darcy broke the kiss first, panting and leaving heavily on one elbow. Her nose and mouth were against Steve's cheek and her breath on his ear sent a shiver down his spine. When she kissed his earlobe he must have reacted somehow because he could hear her wicked grin as she licked hot wet stripes around his ear. He moaned, a sound he'd never heard himself before. Then she was kissing down his neck, biting and sucking at his collarbone, and the pressure in his pants was becoming almost unbearable. It was the most delicious torment. He felt his body arching into her.

His hands on her ribs guided her back to his mouth. He wanted to kiss her until their lips were swollen and red. With a jolt he realized his fingertips were toying with her bra.

They should probably slow down... but he really didn't want to.

Darcy pulled back again. "We should slow down a bit," she murmured, her breathing just as fast and ragged as his. He pulled his hands out of her shirt and set them deliberately on her hips instead, already aching for more again. He at least had those few inches of skin contact where he'd pulled her shirt up a little.

"Steve," she began, hesitantly. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I need to sleep. I can't mess up my sleep schedule too badly right before my defense." She kissed along his jaw to soften her words.

And she was right, he knew. But it still stung. He turned his face away just a little and she kissed along his throat. It wasn't helping him think, but it was reassuring. He felt another moan bubbling up and carefully quashed it.

"You could always sleep here," she added. "I have a pair of shorts that would probably fit you if you wanted to borrow them. They're you-themed." She laughed throatily.

"Don't need 'em," he whispered. "C'mon. Let's get you to bed." He lifted her easily, and they blew out the candles. She took him by the hand and led him into her room, getting straight into bed and turning her phone on to light his way as he pulled his clothes off and climbed into her bed for the second time. They curled around each other easily, and after a few teasing touches and soft kisses, fell asleep.


	11. Just Another Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning.

Entwined in each other's arms, each slept peacefully. No memories of Bucky falling and the strange man he became, the strange man Steve was still searching for; no sad dreams about Peggy; no nightmares involving waking up encased in ice, unable to move as the plane sank into the ocean, or worse, flew on to destroy its target cities. He did wake up a couple of times, but Darcy's reassuring warmth and the rhythm of her slow and steady breaths quickly lulled him back to sleep. Darcy's dreams, rather than the continuing loop of her professors laughing in her face and slamming the doors on her that she'd been enjoying for, oh, probably the last three weeks, were much gentler. She dreamed about nothing special -- swimming at the swimming hole she'd gone to when she was a kid and the sun was baking the earth only it was full of jellyfish, hiking through a sweet-scented forest made of cotton candy and watching the sugar dissolve in the morning fog, drinking hot chocolate out of a giant acorn cap with miniature exploding stars for marshmallows. Normal, surreal stuff. It was a welcome break. The best part was not waking up every two hours, sitting bolt upright in bed, misreading her alarm clock, and scrambling to get ready for the dissertation defense she was sure she was late for. It was a stress thing, Jane had told her. It was a bullshit thing, she'd responded.

After sleeping straight through the night, Darcy slowly roused to a soft scratching sound. It reminded her of the many pest infestations she'd had to endure while getting her undergrad degree. Or the time her apartment near Culver had also been home to a family of squirrels. She so did not want to deal with that right now. Maybe she should just go back to sleep. Luxuriously she stretched and rolled to her side.

The scratching sound was slightly louder. They must be in the walls. The visual of Tony Stark, billionaire genius playboy philanthropist, chasing squirrels through the walls was too beautiful.

"What's funny?"

Darcy almost jumped. She'd nearly forgotten Steve was there, despite the dip in the mattress where his elbows were propped up and the heat she could feel radiating near her knees. Never had she been so relaxed around a guy. "Stark's gonna have a hard time getting those squirrels."

"Squirrels?" She could hear the confusion and the smile in his voice.

"There are squirrels in the walls. Can't you hear them scratching?" She opened one eye to look at him in the warm light of the bedside lamp he'd turned on. He was lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, both hands stuck under the pillow.

They listened intently for a long second. Silence.

"They'll come back, they're just shy."

"Uh-huh," Steve said dryly, rolling his eyes. At least she'd thought squirrels and not that he was drawing her. He felt a little guilty about that, but he couldn't help but sketch the dame. Uh, the woman. He pushed the little sketchbook and golf pencil he'd been keeping in his pocket lately a little further under the pillow and rolled onto his side facing Darcy. Hopefully that looked natural. He tried to scoot a little closer imperceptibly, but she probably noticed. Evidently Steve was only good at sneaky when in the field.

"So this is the second time you've stayed the night," Darcy was saying. His attention snapped back to her. "Do you usually go so fast? I mean, really. At least you bought me dinner first. This time." For all her composure, that old familiar panic feeling started to well up. Maybe she could tamp it down somehow.

"No, not usually. And it's not as if we did anything." Darcy arched her eyebrows at him. "Well, anything _much_."

"Captain America, I am shocked and appalled. Nothing much, he says. Nothing _much_." Were her fingertips tingling, or was it just her imagination?

 _We could do more if you wanted,_ he almost blurted out. "Well," he stammered instead. Smooth.

" _Well_ indeed. _Well,_ if you'll excuse me, I need to shower. I'm sure I stink," Darcy said, tossing the comforter back and stretching again. She did _not_ mention how she could feel her skin sticking to itself every time she moved. So gross. A shower first thing in the morning was absolutely a necessity, and the way her heart was stuttering, not with excitement but with fear, made her want to get out of there. Sleeping next to a blast furnace she was almost surprised she hadn't woken up in a pool of sweat. _How To Make Friends And Influence Romantic Interests_ , she thought sardonically.

"You smell fine," he said before he could come up with a better, wittier way to word it. In his defense, he was distracted by her curves and that sliver of stomach visible between her pajama top and bottoms. "Way better than me, probably." His eyes followed her back as she sat up and dangled her legs over the edge of the bed. Thank goodness he was already on his side, where he could trap his inconvenient boner under his leg -- he could almost _hear_ his blood rushing south.

"You wanna shower too?" Darcy looked back over her shoulder, sultry, teasing. "Do you want to shower first, or would you rather... _share_?" she asked, turning so she could lean toward him, that mischievous smirk back on her face. She saw his eyes flick down to her chest and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. She knew she was doing that thing she'd done with Ian again, that thing where she rushed into physical stuff without really looking where she was going because she didn't have much practice using the brakes or building relationships, but she didn't really care at the moment. That was the thing, one tended not to care until hindsight kicked in. Besides, it was Captain freakin' America. Definitely not a Hydra agent, probably not an asshole only interested in her body? Though she wouldn't mind being friends with benefits, either. He had a damn fine body himself. All muscle-y. And that face! And the potential for bad movie marathons, catching him up on pop culture. God. _Just watch though, he'll be one of those no-sex-before-marriage people_ , she thought.

"I wouldn't mind borrowing yours," he said, dancing around a question he so badly wanted to say _yes_ to, sounding hoarse even to himself, "but I promise to bring it back afterward." When Darcy laughed, it did things to him. Warm things. Warm things that pooled in his belly with the other, very different warm things that were already going on. Languidly he reached out to stroke the backs of his fingertips up her arm, brushing lightly over her wrist. He didn't miss, couldn't have missed, her shiver.

"That's not an answer," she said softly, her voice distant in her ears. She was definitely about to have a panic attack. Worse than she'd had in a while. She had to cover it somehow. What would he think? What would he do? Probably decide she was too damaged to be worth trying, and then walk away, she thought bitterly.

"I'm a good Southern girl, I can't go besmirchin' my honor," he drawled, turning it into a joke to keep things light. There was a long beat before Darcy drew her legs up onto the bed and he nearly groaned watching the way she moved as she leaned down over him, her shorts riding low on her hips and accentuating her curves. Not that he wasn't already very, very aware of said curves.

Hoo boy.

"Well now, Mr. Rogers," she said, her hair falling in fragrant curls around his face. "We can't go having your honor besmirched, can we?" Thank fuck her voice was steady. He ran his fingertips up her arms again, then down her back to her waist. She glanced down at the not-so-slight bulge in the blankets and smirked knowingly. He swallowed again. Well, more of a gulp. She leaned even closer, close enough that her hair brushed his neck and he could feel her breath ghosting across his cheek; he subconsciously tilted his chin up, reaching for her lips, wanting to pull her against him and spend the day necking and  -- his mind raced.

"I--"

"I'll shower first." Her lips were brushing his now; Steve's eyes fluttered closed. His lips parted and his hands tightened on her waist.

Darcy pushed away, rolling off the bed with a teasing look carefully plastered across her face. He resisted the urge to drag her back to him as she slipped out of his arms. The sudden distance was almost painful -- he wanted her close again, wanted to be close to her, wanted to touch her and protect her, keep her safe and happy and, well, other things. "I'll let you know when I'm done," she said, turning and sending a wiggly fingered wave over her shoulder, traipsing out of the room with a little extra sway in her hips.

Steve felt like he'd been through a tornado.

With his ears pricked, listening hard, he could hear the water running from the other side of the apartment. Her bare feet made no noise, but that little  _flump_ sound could only have been her pajamas dropping to the floor. His erection grew painful. Steve so badly wanted to join her in that shower, but not to get clean. No, definitely to get a little dirtier. The thought of her skin against his, of seeing her naked, of washing her back and planting kisses on her belly and shoulders, pressing her up against the tile and having her cling to him for balance, her hands on him.... But he didn't want to go too fast, scare her away or pressure her into anything. He wanted a partner for more than just one dance. And she seemed to have some back story, from the way she kept her apartment in total darkness and edged slightly away from anybody who stood within touching distance. Except Jane. And him. Recently. It hadn't looked like much of a battle, but when Darcy had finally leaned into him that first time on his motorcycle, he felt like he'd won something. Her (begrudging?) trust, perhaps?

He went back and forth so many times he nearly gave himself whiplash.

There was nothing to it but to do it, right? Tell her how he felt. But maybe.. when she wasn't in the shower. He pulled the mini sketchpad out from under his pillow and flipped it open again to finish his sketch of Darcy in an attempt to occupy his mind until she returned. As much as he knew he needed to calm down and take things slowly, take his cues from her, he desperately wanted to just be going steady already and have all this dancing-around-the-issue business done with. It was maddening, to not know for sure.

He guessed, of course. He assumed. Peggy would tell him when he thought he knew a woman's mind was exactly when he was more lost than ever. Or something like that. Maybe it was Howard. No, it was definitely Howard.

* * *

 

Darcy leaned against the bathroom door. She told herself she wasn't pressing her ear against it to see if he would follow her. So far, nothing. She was relieved, beyond the immediate of her racing pulse and graying-out vision -- they probably should be pumping the brakes on this anyway, she knew. Even _she_ knew she was bad at that. Not that she had much experience with it. There were probably so many rookie dating mistakes she was making and she was probably making a fool of herself making those rookie mistakes and she was throwing herself at him and what if the only reason he wasn't laughing at her was because he was such a sweet and considerate guy -- _no, you're tailspinning again_ , she told herself sternly. _Get in the damn shower._ _If he knocks, or something, then he does and you can wing it. If he doesn't, then whatever. Or maybe he'll be gone by the time you get out and you'll also suddenly get offered a job in Nairobi, where you'll never have to look him in the eye knowing he doesn't actually want someone as damaged as you for anything serious. Or you can hide in Culver's basement and make the students think it's haunted. Only come out for snacks and lipstick. What if he thinks you're just like those chorus girls who tried to hit on him back in the traveling show days? Worse, what if you_ are _just like those chorus girls?_

Resolutely she turned and stepped into the walk-in shower. The white porcelain floor was toe-curlingly cold. It helped, somehow, to snap her out of her downward spiral. _Fuck it_ , she reasoned. She'd been ridiculous back there anyway, all but tearing her clothes off and begging him to have sex with her. Maybe, just maybe, this time, she could be normal with this. Was that too much to ask? Surely not. As always, the water was just right, but she barely noticed. There were some extreme benefits to having Jarvis around - one was that the AI kept track of where she adjusted the water temperature under different conditions, and then matched and held it at that temperature until the conditions changed (like her mental workout reading stuffy old political scientist men and then switching to Judith Butler = very very hot shower; early morning after a sleepless night = barely as warm as skin temperature). It was a good thing Stark Tower -- she never could remember to call it the Avengers Tower, it didn't really seem real for all that she actually lived in it -- ran on clean energy now. It sure hadn't hurt his image, or post-Chitauri invasion Avengers PR, that Stark's giant arc reactor was also powering homeless shelters, halfway houses, and low-income housing projects, for free, across the city. And she'd barely even had to argue Stark into it.

Now that the heat of the moment had cooled somewhat, Darcy couldn't believe what she'd said and done in her room. Even to cover the minor panic attack she'd triggered. It had never been that bad with Ian -- but then, she'd never had such strong feelings for _him_. Certainly _nothing_ like how she felt about Steve. She pressed both hands to her face out of sheer embarrassment. Even though her hair wasn't wet enough to wash yet she scrubbed her fingers through it restlessly, the pain of her fingernails against her scalp making her feel more real.

Was it good or bad that there was enough room in this stupidly huge shower to pace? Because she was definitely pacing. And maybe, if she was being completely honest with herself, also hyperventilating a little. What was she _thinking_ back there? And of course she'd left her phone under her pillow, so she couldn't text Jane or Natasha. It would be too awkward to go back for it, dripping wet as she already was. So instead there she was panicking alone. In the shower. Which was too big. It was sucking all the air out of her lungs and she gasped at it, trying to draw it back into her lungs. Whatever the opposite of claustrophobia was, she probably had it. Or the shower felt big enough to swallow her because she'd lived in tiny little apartments her whole life, like the one in high school that had a bedroom exactly the size of a bed, if you took the door off its hinges; she'd hung up a sheet as a curtain-door instead and used her laundry as a pillow. She wanted to simultaneously pace and curl up in the corner. She settled on pacing. For now.

In two days she had to defend her dissertation. She had to get her shit together. Thursday loomed over her, solid and ominous. Even just the word sounded dangerous. Thursday. Thor's day. Well, maybe not too dangerous. He was kinda a big softy, and definitely treated her with respect. Maybe because she'd tased him, maybe because she worked with Jane and he respected her and her intellect. She flexed her tingly fingers and imagined tasing the examiners.

...Could she tase her dissertation defense examiners? Or get Thor to drop Myuh-myuh on them? It was supposed to be her chance to prove herself capable of researching and interpreting data like a real pro. Maybe Thor would stand behind her and glare at them if they took out their red pens, or something. Or she could tase them, write her own assessment, get it to .. whatever place it was supposed to get without anyone the wiser, and simultaneously excuse herself of the debt she had already earned. Not that it was that big, compared to some people's.

Bad idea. Probably not. Wouldn't be much of a defense. But it would definitely make her feel better. Like if they criticized her paper too harshly or asked her something that was only glaringly obvious when it was pointed out, she could tase them. Or imagine tasing them.

That thought was ridiculous enough for her racing heart and pacing feet to slow. She stood under water that was slightly cooler than when she stepped in and let it soothe her, washing away that awful sticky-sweaty feeling and her warp-speed, tangled, nonsensical thoughts. She took a deep breath, catching the faintest whiff of Steve's scent still clinging to her skin. _Calm,_ she willed herself. And finally took a moment to consider Steve's point of view. What a weird date - back to her place for a brief sloppy makeout and then to sleep? Poor guy must have the bluest possible balls.

She paused a moment to consider his balls. Then imagined them blue. Then imagined them star-spangled. It was enough to break the last hold her panic had on her and she rushed through washing her hair. There was an almost-naked man in her bed, waiting for her, right that second. Rinsing suds out of her hair, she couldn't help but smile.

Which was when she heard her front door swing closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my keys only works about 10% of the time now. Every word with a C in it is there because I really wanted that one and had a copy-paste set up going/came back to it on my phone. The F and L keys are also starting to go, so, same deal a little. It's my backup, after all.
> 
> I've also had a hard time adjusting to a new medication over the past 6 weeks which, hopefully, will help me stay conscious, and I had a chronic health problem flare up out of nowhere, and a grandmother had a series of hemorrhagic strokes... it's been a rough month. Sorry this has taken me so long, I've only rewritten it like six times now. oTL
> 
> (Also I got distracted watching Steven Universe tbqh plus then there was AoU.)


End file.
